


Can I be close to you?

by StarrySkies282



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, I'm Bad At Summaries, Lesbian Natasha Romanov, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Wanda isn’t really sure of her sexuality but she’s figuring it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25973317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrySkies282/pseuds/StarrySkies282
Summary: Wanda Maximoff has just moved into her new house with her family after the death of her mother. Anxious about starting a new school, maybe the mysterious redhead from next door will help her to feel okay again.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 65
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys… it’s been a while. I hope everyone’s doing okay. Here’s the first chapter of my new wanda/nat story, posted in celebration of me getting into med school!  
> I hope you like it x  
> Ps the title is a lyric from the song bloom by the paper kites. I highly recommend.

It was the main reason she’d chosen that room, the window. Wrapping around the corner of the house, it gave a view to the street below that ended in a cul-de-sac, the centre of which, instead of a wide expanse of tarmac, as was usual, was planted up with a big old cherry tree and lush green shrubs. Dotted with flowers, it was a welcome change from the concrete jungle of New York.  
That wasn’t the only reason she’d wanted that room. It was the fact that the windowsill itself was wide enough to double as a window seat, which Wanda loves. She’d always wanted a window seat. It’s somewhere to sit, to read, write, think and dream. Since moving here, it has been the place she’s spent most of her time.

And that’s where she sits, in the late afternoon, the sill piled high with blankets and cushions as the rain slashes relentlessly at the windowpane, wind buffeting the house. Her journal lies open, spread across her knees, pen in hand, thoughts spilling freely across the page.

_It’s very different from New York. For one, there’s more green. I think I shall like that. My room is nice, I’ve enjoyed having the opportunity to decorate. But by far, my favourite thing about it is the window. It looks out to the street and to part of the neighbour’s house. We haven’t seen them yet though. I wonder what they’re like._

_Dad moved us here to get away from everything. From the memories. I miss mom. We all do, even Pietro, though he hides it well. Dad does too, but he tries to stay strong for us. I know he was sorry to take us away from school, but I don’t mind. Really. There was nothing much keeping me there anyway. No one to miss, no one to be missed by. I’m kind of bad with talking, with human interaction in general. It sounds like a cliche, the socially awkward teen, but it’s true. I always freeze up trying to talk, I never know what to say and I think I just bore people anyway. It’s easier to write. My thoughts can flow freely, there’s no one to be intimidated by, no one to embarrass myself in front of._

She pauses, tapping her journal with her pen, thinking.

_I’m definitely not looking forward to school. Dreading it actually. People can be just awful. I’m not really expecting to make friends or anything, I just need to stick it out until the end of the year. I guess at some point in my old school I had friends. It’s just that we grew apart because, well, who wants to be friends with someone who’s hardly ever at school and when they are just hides in the toilets and cries. Wow that looks so pathetic written down._

A car door slams, beyond the window, startling Wanda.

She peers out of the window, between the raindrop-streaked glass, in time to see a dark haired woman get out of the driver’s seat, followed by a blonde haired girl a little younger than Wanda. It’s not her that intrigues Wanda though, but the final member to clamber out of the car. A girl with hair like flames, the colour of the sunset, impossibly bright against the greyness of the weather. She doesn’t seem fazed by it either, as she stands, rain soaking her jeans, face tilted slightly up towards the sky.

Wanda wishes she could see her up close.

This is the first time she’s seen the neighbours since they moved here. Most probably, they’d been away for the holiday, like a normal family.

“Leave the bags, we’ll get them later!” Wanda hears the dark-haired woman call out, most probably the girls’ mother, and watches as the red-haired girl trudges up to the porch and out of sight, away from Wanda.

For as long as she could remember, Wanda had always been someone who watched the world around her. It was just something she did, kept her eyes open and remembered everything she saw, down to the smallest details.  
It was a habit she’d only realised was odd later on, when Wanda had asked Pietro about something she’d noticed, only to be answered with ‘why did you even notice that?’  
Perhaps it had stemmed from her natural tendency to overanalyse everything: comments, situations responses. Observe rather than take part.  
She’d always been quiet, it’s Pietro who’s the one who gets noticed, the loud one, the popular one. It’s hard sometimes, to believe that they’re twins.

Sighing, Wanda turns away from her window to survey her room. A combination of her old, New York room, blended with the new she had tried to inject.  
Her dad, for his part, had tried to persuade her to paint the walls a light blue, something brighter, but Wanda had pushed back, opting for a muted soft grey, so pale it was almost white. That was the way she liked it. She wanted things to be light and airy. There was a comfort in that, it could not be denied.  
Her room was not completely devoid of colour, though. A silvery blue rug lay on the floor beside her bed, a yellow dressing gown on a hook on the back of the door. Books of all different colours and sizes stuffed into the bookshelf in the nook beside the window. A few trinkets and ornaments adorned the shelves, a vase, a jewellery stand laden with necklaces, a couple of stuffed toys she’d had since a baby and hadn’t had the heart to throw out.  
In one corner was her desk, the school supplies her dad had forced her to buy the other day piled up, waiting for use. There’s a singular photograph, a family photo. It’s the only one displayed in her room. The only one she could bear to look at. Beside the frame sits a small potted succulent, its leaves silvery grey.  
It’s a simple room, and yet, on closer inspection, not so simple. Much like Wanda herself.

“Wanda, Pietro, dinner!” She hears her dad call up to them. Wanda extricates herself from the comfort of the window seat, replacing her journal in the bedside drawer and heading downstairs.

Dinner is the usual affair. They’re still getting used to it, just the three of them. Her dad makes conversation, and Wanda and Pietro truly try their best to engage in it, but it’s hard to ignore the silence of where their mother used to be.  
Sometimes, on default, Wanda will set the table for four, before realising her mistake. Other times, Pietro will be halfway to dialling his mum’s number, ready to ask her when she’ll be home for dinner, before remembering she’s not coming back. That she’s gone.  
They’re just surviving, really. Getting by day to day. And it’s exhausting

—

The rain still shows no sign of letting up. Wanda is curled up once more in the window, this time with a book, her room bathed in soft lamplight, a cup of chamomile nestled in hand.  
These quiet times are the ones she lives for, just being able to sit and read, uninterrupted. To get lost in worlds beyond the reaches of her room, allow her mind to wander far afield. To see things from other peoples’ perspective, to forget herself for a while.  
A light flickers on outside, coming from the room across from hers. The neighbour’s house. Wanda watches with interest, spotting a flash of red, realising it must be the redheaded girl’s room.  
She stares as she moves around, part of her willing the girl to look up, so Wanda can see her face better, the other part terrified of being seen. It’s not really something normal people do: watching people through their windows.

A few moments later, and the girl has disappeared, her curtains drawn, hidden from sight. The view into her life shrouded. Wanda wonders whether the girl’s room looks like hers. The houses are all very similar, so most probably, she thinks, it’s a mirror image of hers. She wonders how it’s decorated, if it’s messy or tidy; whether she has posters on the wall or books on her shelves. Wonders what it reveals about the type of person she is.

She can’t quite explain it, but she feels unexplainably drawn to the redhaired girl she hardly knows.

That’s how she falls asleep, there in the window, to the sound of the rain and thoughts of the mystery girl next door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda goes for a little walk and meets one of her neighbours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy x

It’s Sunday and the house is awake. Pietro, up early, has already left for a run. Her dad is in the study, preparing for the week ahead. Luckily, his law firm had a job opening for him in Portland.

Wanda thinks he’s working too much, too hard. But then again, they all have different coping mechanisms.

The weather has taken a turn, sunlight streaming in through every window, and Wanda dresses, feeling completely at rest with herself. She finds that she’s overtaken by this strange desire to go exploring. Her dad had been telling her to explore the area since they’d moved in, but she hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t quite felt up to braving a new place yet, only been out a handful of times, with minimal interactions with people. The guy at the corner shop, a smile at the woman walking her dog. Today, though, feels different. She feels ready as she leaves the house.

  
The streets are filled with an end-of-summer air. Families out soaking up the last of the holiday, people milling about going from shop to shop. She hears snatches of conversation, parents asking children whether they had got all their stationery, children grumbling about not wanting to go back to school. Wanda sympathised with them. Though, she didn’t mind the learning part so much. In that way, she _liked_ school.

There’s a small, independent book shop tucked away on the corner. It’s been closed every time Wanda’s come past here. Today, though, the sign is flipped to open, the lights are on inside. It’s as though the shop was waiting for Wanda today, anticipating her arrival. Which is stupid, because how could a _building_ know something like that?

Venturing in, she’s immediately surrounded by the oh-so-familiar smell of books, of paper. It’s a cosy little place, but bright, shelves stacked with books, ornate little placards detailing each category of book, from ‘adventure’ to ‘mystery’ to ‘fantasy.’ ‘Poetry,’ ‘YA,’ a cute little children’s section with coloured bean bags and so, so much more.

Wanda begins browsing the shelves. Easily, she could spend hours there. She wants to see every inch of the shop.  
A bonus, for her, is that the shop is fairly empty. One or two customers mill around, but that is all. It suits her fine, meaning no awkward conversations, no having to hover awkwardly while waiting for a customer to move on. She can just _be_.

She ends up selecting two titles, and heads over to the till.  
There’s a dark-haired woman standing behind the register, who looks up when Wanda comes over, and Wanda almost gasps aloud.

_It’s her neighbour._

“Hi there,” the woman says, with a warm smile.

“Hi,” Wanda returns, a little breathy, all the while trying to stare inconspicuously around the shop, to see whether the red-haired girl is here. She’s not.

“Oh, you’re our new neighbour,” she states. “We saw you move in, though I hope you’ll forgive us for not introducing ourselves before. We were in a bit of a hurry to leave.”

Wanda notices her voice has a slight accent to it, lilting and somewhat familiar, though she can’t quite place it.

“That’s alright,” Wanda manages, a little stiffly. She’s out of practice with the whole ‘conversation’ thing.

“I’m Melina, by the way. Melina Vostokoff. But just call me Melina, dear.”

 _She sure smiles a lot_ , thinks Wanda. Belatedly, she realises she should respond.

“I’m Wanda,” she says finally, even managing a smile of her own.

“It’s been nice meeting you, Wanda. Enjoy your books.”

“T-thank you,” says Wanda, taking the bag from Melina and heading out.

Wanda walks the short way home, swinging the paper bag lightly as she goes. It was a small victory, but she’d managed a whole _entire_ conversation without completely embarrassing herself.

  
“What’cha got there little sister?” Asks Pietro, seeing her come into the room.

“Books,” she replies. “I went to that bookshop in town, the one that’s been closed the whole summer. And I think I just met our neighbour, or, one of them at least.”

“You talk to her?” Her brother sounds slightly surprised: he knew how much Wanda hated talking to people she didn’t know.

“A little,” admits Wanda. “She seemed nice.”

“Huh,” her brother gazes at her in wonder. Maybe some good could come out of this move for his sister, after all.

Alone in her room, it only makes her wonder more about the red-haired girl. Did she work in the shop sometimes with her mother? Melina hadn’t said, and Wanda hadn’t asked because then that would be admitting she was spying on them.

She sighs inwardly.

Perhaps she’ll see her at school. _But then_ , she thinks sadly, _she’d hardly want to be friends with someone like me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maximoff twins’ first day at school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I just wanna say I live in England so I don’t really know much about the American school system besides what’s in films/tv/books so please forgive any inaccuracies :)

She wakes, blinking in the darkness, disoriented. Peeling back the curtain, the sky is beginning to lighten, rays of sunlight leaching across the sky. The luminous alarm clock on her bedside table shows it is 5:37 AM. Way too early to be up. She’s not sure what woke her, remembers nothing from her dreams, but now she’s up, it’s not likely she’ll be going back to sleep.

Bunching up the covers around her and drawing her knees up, she plucks her diary from the bedside draw, opening to a blank page.

_School today. I’m not really sure what to expect. Nothing much, I suppose. Probably just another year of melting into the background, of lunchtimes alone. It’s just one more year though._

_It’s not that I hate school. The lessons are fine, it’s just the whole people thing I’m not good at. I think it got worse after mum. People say I retreated even more into myself. I suspect they are right. I should be used to being lonely after all this time I guess. But sometimes, I just can’t help thinking, what if I was more like Pietro?_

With that thought written, she closes the journal, careful not to crease the pages and hauls herself up from the warmth, shuffling over to her chair where she had laid out her clothes the night before.  
Black skinny jeans, a black and white striped t- shirt and a maroon cardigan. Nothing special, but she had long ago given up trying to impress the student body. Why should she make extra effort for a new school?  
If she tried hard enough, she could make it seem like just any other day. Just another day at school.

She brushes her hair out, and hears the shower turn on. Pietro.  
Honestly, she doesn’t understand how people could shower first thing in the morning. She preferred the evenings.  
Trudging down the stairs, she finds her father in the kitchen, whisking a large bowl of what looks suspiciously like—

  
“Are you making pancakes?”  
“Well, yeah. First day of school,” he says brightly, ladling batter into a pan. Internally, Wanda winces, thinking back to past first-days-of-school, when it would be her mother making the pancakes with her patterned apron on, hair up in a loose bun.

Really, Wanda didn’t see what all the fuss was about, but was only too happy to take the punnet of strawberries on the counter and dice them up, tossing them into a bowl.

“Morning,” calls out Pietro brightly, sauntering into the kitchen, stealing a strawberry from the bowl and sitting himself down at the table.  
“You looking forward to school?” Their dad asks, and Wanda responds with a ‘no’ at the same time Pietro says ‘yes.’  
“I’m thinking of joining the track team,” announces Pietro, and Wanda smiles: her brother had always been good at sports.  
“And what about you?” Her dad asks her.  
Wanda didn’t do societies or clubs. She was terrible at sport, and no one had wanted her for a debate society and she was too shy to get involved in theatre.  
She’s about to tell her father as such when Pietro shoots her a look and kicks her under the table.  
They’re both trying not to worry their father. Not give him anything extra to think about. And Wanda, it seems, has become one of his main worries.

“Um, well maybe,” she says eventually. “If they have a book club or art or something, I don’t know.”  
Her dad gives her a smile. “Well hopefully you’ll find something you like.”  
“Yeah,” Wanda breathes. Hopefully.

The walk to school is fairly short, under fifteen minutes, and then they’re through the main gate, with the sign that says ‘Marvel High,’ heading for the entrance.  
There’s the rush of bodies and fluorescent lighting, and Wanda tries to look down, away from all the eyes she can feel on her and Pietro, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to get to wherever she needs to get to.  
They’re given timetables, a very badly illustrated map each and assigned locker numbers. She barely even registers anything until Pietro is giving her a conciliatory pat on the shoulder.  
“You’ll be fine,” he says quietly, before heading off in search of his first class, leaving Wanda to stare after him, alone with all the people crowding around her.

Her first class is English, and she manages to find the class without too much difficulty.  
Luckily, when she arrives, it’s still early, so the class is practically empty. Most students are still milling around outside, catching up with their friends, talking about their holidays, doing normal people things.

Strategically, Wanda picks a desk by the window, not too far to the back because that was where the conventionally popular kids sat and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, and not too far forward to be called upon by the teacher. She’s had a while to perfect this technique. It works. Most of the time.

It’s while she’s arranging her notebook and pencil case on the desk in front of her that the class starts to fill up. She tries not to pay any attention to it.  
There’s a thump next to her and she looks up to see a tall-ish dirty-blond haired boy tossing his bag to the ground.  
“This seat free?” He asks. Apparently he means to sit there regardless of whether it was free or not.  
“Um, yeah,” mumbles Wanda shifting in her seat.  
“Cool,” the boy says sitting down. “Hey, you’re new, aren’t you?”  
Wanda nods yes.  
“I’m Clint.”  
“Wanda,” she manages.  
“Nice to meet you.”

Wanda is about to offer a response when their teacher walks in, commanding silence.  
If Wanda has learnt anything, it’s that it is best not to cause trouble— she didn’t want to be singled out this early. Or ever, if that was at all possible.  
“That’s Ms Johnson. She’s alright mostly,” Clint informs her in a whisper.

The lesson drones on, Ms Johnson introducing the new unit of work— short stories— and Wanda takes out a pen to copy down notes from the board. At least she can enjoy this class.

“Hey,” Clint whispers across to her, “d’you have a pen I could borrow?”  
Wordlessly, Wanda slips one across to him, wondering who on earth didn’t bring a pen to the first day of school.  
“Thanks,” he returns, and Wanda offers him a small smile before returning to her work.

 _It’s been alright so far_ , she thinks. _This Clint seems ok._

Eventually, the bell sounds signifying the end of the lesson and Clint slides his borrowed pen back to Wanda.  
“Keep it,” she tells him, figuring he’ll need one for his next lesson.  
“Well thanks. Hey, you should come sit with us at lunch,” he tells her with a smile.  
“Yeah, maybe.” Honestly, Wanda hadn’t expected that so soon; she’d envisioned having to eat alone.  
“See ya,” says Clint, throwing his bag over his shoulder and moving away at breakneck speed, leaving Wanda to stare after him.

After that, the most part of the day passes in a series of bells and voices, a blur of faces and note-taking until lunch arrives.  
She queues up for her cafeteria-issued lunch: pizza, what’s supposed to be salad, and a hard-looking bread roll, all the while scanning the tables, looking for somewhere out of the way she could sit.  
“Hey, Wanda! Over here!” She recognises Clint, waving her over to a table where he’s surrounded by other students: his friends most probably. Gripping her tray tightly, she walks over, slipping into an available seat opposite from Clint and next to a blond boy.  
“Hi,” the blond boy says, and Wanda turns to him. “I’m Steve.”  
“I’m Wanda,” she says.  
“You’re in my history class,” Steve observes.  
“Yeah,” Wanda says with a smile. It’s new for her to be noticed.  
“Guys, this is Wanda,” Clint says to the table at large as Wanda looks around her. With a start, she sees Pietro, conversing with a rather athletic-looking boy Clint tells her is ‘Thor.’  
“I see you’ve already met my twin,” Wanda smiles boldly. (That’s new for her).  
“You and Pietro are twins?” Clint asks incredulously. “That’s so cool! Why didn’t either of you tell me?”  
“Honestly, Clint, isn’t it obvious, they both have the same eyes,” Wanda hears a voice scoffing and looks up from her pizza only to come face to face with a redhead. _Her neighbour._ The girl Wanda had spent so much time thinking about the last couple of days.  
“Wanda, huh? That’s a lovely name. I’m Natasha,” drawls the red-haired girl— _Natasha_ — Wanda corrects, her green eyes sparkling.  
“I see you’ve already met this idiot,” she smiles, clapping Clint on the back.  
“He’s not so bad,” smiles Wanda, and then winces internally at the way that must sound.  
“You hear that, Clint?” Natasha asks, smirking, sitting down. “Not so bad. That’s a first.”

Wanda finds it hard to look away from Natasha, there’s just something about her Wanda can’t quite place, and it’s not just to do with her _undeniable_ beauty. (Though that also can’t be overlooked).  
Eventually, she tears her eyes away in effort not to be caught staring and turns back to her lunch.

Lunch continues in that way, with Wanda surrounded by easy conversation, most of which she listens to, taking part occasionally.  
She meets Carol, and her friend Val, who seems intent on trying to get Natasha to sign up for the school netball team. It seems a long-standing debate (bordering on argument) between them.

It’s around then, that a dark-skinned boy, Sam, comes over, sitting himself down.  
“Hey Thor, your brother just threw a chair at Scott.” He says it so casually it almost sounds like a regular occurrence.  
“He _what_!” Thor booms slamming his fist on the table.  
“Yeah they were in the hall for theatre rehearsals. Vice Principal Hill is _pissed_. And you should have seen Angie. She looks like she could kill someone. Peggy was restraining her.”  
“Yeah well you know how much the play means to her,” supplies Steve as Thor hurries off in search of his brother.  
“Theatre kids,” Natasha swears, with a shake of her head, and Wanda laughs.  
“Hey Steve, where’s Bucky?” Sam asks.  
“Who’s Bucky?” Wanda hears her twin ask, cringing at the way he’s talking with his mouth full.  
“Steve’s boyfriend,” Clint replies helpfully, and she watches Steve turn a brilliant shade of red, almost the colour of Natasha’s hair, Wanda thinks.  
“He’s sick. It’s kinda my fault. We got caught in the rain the other day and I didn’t have a jacket so Buck gave me his n’ now he has a cold.”  
“Well at least we know chivalry’s not dead,” smiles Sam, patting Steve on the back.

She knew later she would be exhausted from all the interaction, but for now, she sat smiling, listening to the others until the bell sounds for the end of lunch.  
“Come sit with us anytime,” she hears, and the sound of others agreeing as she leaves in search of her chemistry class.

  
  


_School was okay today, surprisingly. Better than I expected it to go. People actually spoke to me! And I didn’t have lunch alone. I met the redhaired girl from next door today, her name’s Natasha. I sat with her and her friends at lunch, although I didn’t really get to talk to her much. She seems nice, if a little intimidating. I’m not really sure why i care so much about who she is, maybe I’ve just created this whole personality for her in my head, I don’t know._

“Hey little sis.”  
Wanda slams the notebook shut and turns to find Pietro leaning against her door frame.  
“I’m only twelve minutes younger than you, idiot,” Wanda returns rolling her eyes.  
“Yes yes, ok. But what did you think?”  
Wanda knows what he means: she always does. Perhaps there was something in that concept of ‘twinspeak.’ They could be perfectly vague with each other and still understand what the other was getting at.  
“It was alright, surprisingly,” Wanda reveals. “Clint and Natasha and everyone seemed nice.”  
“ _Right_? Steve asked me to try out for track tomorrow!” Grins Pietro.  
“That’s great, Piet, they’d be lucky to have you on the team.” He’s a fair runner, she knows that, more than fair, even, and he’d been on the team back at their old school. She knew it had been hard for him, moving away from everything. Unlike her, he’d actually had things he was leaving behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy x

“Hey,” Wanda hears a voice and looks up from her sketchbook. She’d got to school early and was sitting on a bench, sketching quietly before first bell rang out.  
“Hi,” Wanda returns, seeing Natasha and moving over so she can sit down.  
“That’s pretty good,” Natasha says, pointing to the tree Wanda was sketching.  
“It’s nothing,” comes Wanda’s modest reply. She hadn’t really expected much interaction this early on in the day.  
“It’s not nothing, it’s great. Almost looks like it’s _living_.”  
Wanda blushes at the compliment.  
“I thought you were an art person,” Natasha continues, blowing a bubble of bubblegum. Wanda hears it pop and smells the distinct scent.  
“You did?”  
“Yeah. You want one?” She offers her a cube of bubblegum.  
“Um, ok. Thanks,” says Wanda, accepting the cube, putting it in her pocket for later. She’s not really sure its advisable to have gum this early on in the day.  
“Do you draw?” Wanda blurts out.  
“Me, oh no,” laughs Natasha.  
 _God, that laugh_. What Wanda wouldn’t give to cause it more often.  
“I’m terrible at art. Can just about do stick figures.”  
It’s Wanda’s turn to laugh, a little self consciously it must be said, half hiding behind her dark hair.  
“So, what’s your first lesson?” Natasha asks drawing her legs up into a contorted position, and Wanda is amazed at her nonchalance. How did one relax so easily around people they hardly know? She’d always been so guarded.  
“Biology,” says Wanda, fishing her timetable out of her bag. “With Mr Banner.”  
“Oh he’s a big softie mostly. Just make sure you do the homework though.”  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” promises Wanda

“See you later,” Natasha says with a small wave, heading off in the opposite direction to Wanda as the bell rings.  
“Bye.” Wanda is left behind, the faint bubblegum smell lingering in the air as she heads off in search of the biology lab.

Lunch comes around again, and Wanda’s not feeling half as nervous as she was yesterday. She engages in conversation a little more, although she can’t deny she’s a little disappointed Natasha doesn’t talk to her much.

“So Wanda, you good at sport?” The blonde-haired girl, Carol, asks her.  
“Me? No, I’m awful. Pietro’s the sporty one out of the two of us.”  
“Shame. We could use another person for the netball team,” she pauses to stare pointedly at Natasha, “because _someone_ won’t join up, even though they’d be amazing.”  
“Carol, I’ve already said, I don’t do sport in school.”  
Carol snorts.  
“Just ask Peggy, she’d be good. Get her to try out tomorrow.”  
“Fine,” concedes Carol, shaking her cropped blonde head as the end-of-lunch bell sounds from on high.

Wanda has calculus and what with everyone shoving past her in the corridors and it only being her second day, it’s fair to say she gets more than a little turned about.  
It’s while she’s rounding a corner that she walks into something rather solid.  
“Ow!” She finds herself exclaiming, rubbing her forehead as she looks up to come face to face with a dark haired rather athletic looking boy. “S-sorry,” she blurts out. _Way to go, Wanda._  
“S’alright. Are you okay?”  
“A little lost.”  
“Ah, you must be Wanda. I’m Bucky.”  
 _Oh, Steve’s boyfriend._  
“Hi.”  
“So where’re you trying to get to?” Bucky asks.  
“Um, room 312.”  
“Oh yeah, it’s just down the hall, on your left,” he says with a smile.  
“Thanks,” says Wanda, returning the smile.  
“No problem.” He gives her a little salute which may be mocking but Wanda doesn’t really care. People seem to recognise her here. To see her. It’s quite a big change from what she’s used to.

When she finally makes it to the dreaded calculus classroom, it is with dismay that she realises the class is already full.  
She scans the rows, feeling eyes on her all the while, eventually spying an open seat next to a certain redhead.  
Wanda gulps. Natasha may have been nice to her so far, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t intimidate her. Not to mention, she’s _incredibly_ beautiful.

She pulls out the chair and sits, eyes trained on Natasha who has her head down, flicking through her notebook. Wanda sees row upon row of neatly scrawled sums that make her brain positively _ache_. Maths had never been her forte.  
“Oh, hey,” Natasha says, putting down her pen and turning to face Wanda.  
“Hi.” Wanda finds herself staring into Natasha’s impossibly green eyes.  
It’s such a small, simple five letter word, green, and in no way does it really do justice to the viridescent jade before her.

Belatedly, Wanda realises she’s staring.  
 _Oh God she must think I’m some sort of freak_.  
“Sorry,” she mutters, cheeks flaming.  
“S’alright,” Natasha replies, an amusement playing around her lips that has them quirking up into a smile that has Wanda’s brain short circuiting.

_Yep, she was screwed._

Luckily, she’s saved from any embarrassing response by their teacher, Mrs May, who begins talking about derivatives and chain rules and sec squared, whatever that might be.

Maths had never been her strong point. What with missing so many lessons last year, it sufficed to say she had fallen behind. Yes, she could differentiate simple functions, and she knew the basics of trigonometry. But this, well. It was awful. Like another language.  
She muddles through the problems Mrs May sets for them, page becoming so dense with scoring-out it begins to look like just a mass of scribbles and black ink.  
“You alright?” Natasha asks leaning over, sensing Wanda’s frustration.  
“I guess you can see I’m not great at maths,” admits Wanda, as if it isn’t already obvious.  
“Let me have a look,” the redhead says patiently, and Wanda slides her paper over in embarrassment.  
She promptly launches into a careful explanation, showing Wanda how to work through the problem, and Wanda’s eyes widen in amazement: how could someone know so much about calculus without their brain imploding?

“Th-thanks,” she mumbles a response. She’s grateful, really. It makes a _lot_ more sense now.

Wanda’s just about packing up when natasha taps her lightly on the arm. “Hey, Wanda, if you want, I could come over after school and we could work on the homework together? Only if you want though.”

Wanda stares back at her in complete confusion at the idea that anyone would want to go out of their way to help her like that. She wondered at what price it came at.  
“Really?” Wanda questions, eyes widening and she stumbles over her words. “It’s just that, well, I’m sure you’ve gathered I’m not great at maths, so I couldn’t help you or anything and I don’t want to slow you down or make you think you have to help me just because we sit on the same table at lunch and we’re partners or anything and—“  
Wanda stops short, realising she’d been rambling _terribly_ , a flush spreading across her face. Now Natasha _definitely_ wouldn’t want to be friends with her. She couldn’t even carry out a normal conversation. Why couldn’t she have just said “yes, ok, see you later,” like a normal person might have done?  
“Sorry,” She apologises, fiddling with her backpack straps, not meeting Natasha’s eyes.  
“Hey, it’s alright,” Natasha reassures with a smile. “There’s no need to apologise. I thought the rambling was kinda cute.”  
 _She what?_  
“I mean it about doing the work together. But only if you want, of course.”  
“Um, yeah, ok. I’d like that.”  
Natasha’s grin widens. “Great. Here,” she scribbles a number onto a piece of scrap paper. “Message me at the end of the day so I know where to meet you, ok.”  
“Ok,” Wanda agrees, a smile spreading across her face, clutching the paper as she heads off to her final period of the day.

Final bell sounds and Wanda scrambles out of her seat, finding her way to the main gate.  
Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she types in Natasha’s number, quickly saves it and taps out a text.  
 _I’m waiting outside: by the main entrance_

Across the school, Natasha’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She smiles at the text. Who uses a colon via text?  
 _On my way_ , she fires off, heading out.

They walk the short walk back to Wanda’s house, and natasha does most of the talking while Wanda tries _very hard_ to concentrate and think up not-so-mundane replies.

“This is my room,” Wanda supplies helpfully, showing Natasha in.  
Wanda is inordinately glad she had made her bed that morning and had had the foresight to tidy up a little the night before, so her room wasn’t an absolute _tip_.  
“I like your room,” offers Natasha, looking around intently. “It’s cute, minimal. It suits you.” Natasha looks at her and Wanda has this distinct feeling she can see directly into her soul.  
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go get us some snacks,” she says finally.

Wanda scurries away to locate said snacks, leaving Natasha to herself.

It’s been a while since Wanda’s had someone over from school, so of course she’s going to make an effort.  
Trudging back to her room with a couple of blueberry muffins, a pear each and some glasses of water, she finds Natasha sprawled across her rug, textbooks spread out in front of her. It is undeniably a very attractive sight.

“You’re a photographer,” Natasha states, gesturing towards the shelf where Wanda’s Polaroid camera sits. She hasn’t used it in a while.  
“Uh, yeah, I guess. My mum bought me my first camera for my ninth birthday. I guess I just like the idea of capturing moments on film, having something tangible, y’know.  
I like the stories photos have, the memory. Like, at face value it’s just you and your family having dinner but when you look back on it you remember the mood, what you thought, how you felt, things people said, what happened that day.”  
Natasha looks at Wanda, a little in awe, and Wanda wonders whether she’s put her off. Her reply, though, catches her off guard.  
“Can I see some?”  
Wanda knows she means the photos.  
“Uh, yeah, sure,” she says easily, though what she’s about to do doesn’t feel so easy.  
Retrieving a photo album from next to her camera, Wanda sits cross legged by Natasha, opening up the book. She hasn’t looked at this in a while.  
The first photo is a shot of the family, at dinner, paper party crowns on their heads, smiling into the camera.  
The twins on their birthday.  
A close up of a dark haired woman with eyes just like Wanda’s.  
“She’s beautiful.”  
“That’s my mum,” Wanda tells her, a little stiffly.  
“You look just like her.”  
“Everyone says I look more like my dad.”  
“Nope. Definitely your mum,” affirms Natasha.  
Wanda smiles. It’s a small, sad smile and Natasha, sensing she doesn’t want to talk about her mother, tactfully changes the subject.  
“I bet you’re a writer.”  
“What makes you think that?”  
“Well I guess the way you described what photography meant... and all the journal-looking books on the shelves. Am I right?” Natasha asks, quirking an eyebrow.  
“Yeah, a little. I think maybe one day I would like to write a children’s book,” Wanda imparts. It’s something she’s never dared tell another soul before. Something she’d only saved for the confined secrecy of her journal pages but she finds herself telling Natasha— she’s not sure why; she’s only known her a few days.

“I can see that.”  
“How do you do that?”  
“Do what?” Asks Natasha, casually, breaking off a piece of muffin.  
“Read me like that.”  
“What can I say, I’m observant,” she returns with a shrug and a smile.  
Wanda knows a thing or two about that but _still_. It’s a little unnerving.

“Shall we get started?” Natasha asks and Wanda nods, locating her books.

An hour in and Wanda is decidedly less confused where the realms of calculus are concerned.

There’s a knock on her door and Wanda’s dad enters the room.  
“Hey honey, how was your day?”  
“It was fine. You’re home early,” she observes  
“Meetings finished,” her dad replies, before noticing Natasha. “Oh hello, I’m Erik, Wanda’s dad.”  
“Natasha.”  
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” He asks.  
Wanda hopes Natasha says yes.  
“That’s kind of you to offer, but I’ve got ballet at 6:30,” Natasha replies.  
“Perhaps another time, then,” Erik smiles. “I’ll leave you girls to it.”

Her dad gone, Wanda turns to Natasha.  
“You do _ballet_?” She asks surprised.  
“What you don’t think I could wear a tutu?” Natasha asks, amused.  
“N-no, I bet you look great in a tutu.”  
The words are scarcely out of her mouth before Wanda regrets them.  
 _Oh Wanda, you complete fool._

Natasha smiles to herself, but decides not to torture Wanda further.  
“I’ve been doing ballet since I was four. I think it was kind of a requirement. My mum used to be a ballerina before she came to America.”  
“Really? I’ve _always_ wanted to do ballet, but I’m just so clumsy.”  
“Somehow I don’t believe that.”  
“No, it’s true! I tripped into the door the other day and stubbed my toes. The nails came off on two of them.”  
Natasha snorts in spite of herself and Wanda grins, embarrassed, trying to refocus on the maths problem in front of her.

It feels like just minutes have passed when Natasha begins gathering up her books and it’s time for Wanda to walk her to the door.

“Thanks for helping me today.”  
“Don’t mention it,” she gives Wanda that radiant smile, the one that makes her feel all warm inside. “See you tomorrow.”  
Wanda smiles back at that promise as she shuts the door.

—

“Well that was nice of Natasha to help you,” Wanda’s dad says as she helps him get dinner ready.  
“Yeah. Yeah it was. Although she probably just took pity on my awful math skills.”  
“Or maybe she just wants to be your friend,” Erik says, eyes twinkling.  
“Maybe,” Wanda muses.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a little short, but I hope you enjoy it all the same x

Wanda should be working. There’s a biology assignment due tomorrow and a geography essay to plan. But instead, she’s seated in the alcove carved out by the window, nestled amongst the blankets and pillows. It’s not the most productive place to work when she had a perfectly good desk.

Her homework lies forgotten in her lap as she stares aimlessly out of the window into the gathering darkness. The twilit sky is a majestic, dusky purple, the clouds pale-grey and fast moving as the winds move in. 

There’s supposed to be a storm tonight, Wanda heard on the radio.

One by one, the streetlights flicker on as a gust of wind causes the branches of the cherry tree outside to writhe and contort, groaning with the effort.

Shaking her head to clear it, Wanda tries to return to the task at hand: the extended-answer questions on cell structure. She has answered exactly three when the neighbour’s motion-sensor light comes on, partially lighting up the Maximoff drive and altogether distracting the youngest Maximoff.

Eagerly, Wanda presses her face up to the glass, breath fogging it over, craning her neck for a better look. She’s hoping (though she’s still not completely sure why) to see Natasha.

Her efforts are rewarded when indeed, it _is_ Natasha trudging down the driveway, putting her headphones in and drawing her hood up over her head. Stuffing her hands deep into her pockets, the redhead passes Wanda’s house. Regrettably, the brunette notices, it is without a backward glance as she continues up the lane, soon out of sight.

Leaning her head against the cool glass pane, Wanda wonders where it is Natasha could be going in such weather. Probably, she thinks bitterly, to wherever or whatever it is _normal_ teenagers do. A sudden urge bubbles up inside of her, to go out into the building storm and chase after Natasha, to go with her to wherever she’s going, to just get utterly lost in this new city she hardly knows.

Deep down, she knows it’s madness, that doing so would not in the slightest help her be friends with Natasha; rather, it would succeed in pushing her further away. Another part of her tries to convince herself that no, things are not _that_ bad, that Natasha _had_ indeed made an effort to include Wanda, that maybe she wasn’t alone. She was tired of being alone, so tired. 

A day ago, Natasha had been _here_ , sprawled across her carpet, by some divine miracle, talking to her, _seeing_ her. Wanda wishes she could see Natasha the way it seemed she saw her. Today though, there was silence, save for the ticking clock and the wind outside.

What a difference a day made.

The first few raindrops break free from the sky, and Wanda pulls the blankets more tightly around her. She hopes wherever Natasha is, that she’s safe and dry, that she gets home alright.

Wind picks up, whistling its way through the house; Wanda still hasn’t gotten used to the sounds this new house makes, its creaks and groans, the way its pipes sounds, so it’s fair to say it startles her.

It makes her look up at just the right time, though...

A lone figure comes trudging up the road and Wanda once more flattens herself against the glass. Madness, she knows. An obsession, perhaps. Yes, yes it is her. This time she comes with a bag in hand, looking distinctly like the ones Wanda knows they use in the corner shop. She watches as the light comes on and Natasha disappears inside, leaving Wanda to stare at her own dishevelled reflection in the dark, dreaming of some alternate universe where she and Natasha could be _actual_ friends. Or, maybe even more.

Her pen falls from its place amongst the swathes of the blankets, hitting the ground with a dull thud, dragging Wanda back to reality. Sighing, she turns back to continue her work, trying to push all thoughts of Natasha out of her mind.

The wind continues to gather in strength, the sky grows darker.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn’t love ice cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It’s been a busy few days what with starting uni, but I finally have time to post! Hope you like this one and let me know what you think x

The rest of the week passes by as normally as possible, Wanda falling into a routine of school and homework. In between it all, she spends her lunches with Natasha, Clint, Steve and the others.

It’s Monday that things take a surprising turn. She’s on her way to history when she hears a voice call out to her.  
“Hey, Wanda!”  
Turning, she sees Natasha striding towards her.  
“Carol, Val and I are going to check out this new ice cream place after school, you should come too.”  
Wanda stops still in the corridor, never mind all the people trying to get passed on their way to lessons. Lunch at school is one thing, but she’s just shocked that Natasha is trying to make such an effort to include Wanda.  
“Say you’ll come,” pleads Natasha. “I don’t want to be a third wheel with Val and Carol. All they do is eye-fuck each other and they’re not even _dating_.”  
Wanda’s face splits into a grin and she lets out a laugh.  
“Okay, then,” she finds herself saying, as though it’s no big deal.  
“Great.”  
Wanda practically skips into history that morning.

—

“Hey Wanda!” Carol hollers at her as she descends the steps at the end of the day.  
She’s waving wildly and it’s a wonder she doesn’t hit anyone with the throng of students leaving the building.  
“Nat said you’re coming too. We’re just waiting for her and Val.”  
“It was nice of you to include me,” Wanda smiles at the blonde.  
“Ah, don’t mention it. It was Natasha’s idea really,” beams Carol.

_So Natasha wanted to spend time with her?_

Val and Natasha arrive and the four fall into step, taking the short walk to ‘ _Snowflake Gelato,_ ’ which Carol won’t stop talking about along the way.

There are a few customers milling around, but it’s hardly crowded, and Carol lets out a cheer.  
“Thank God there’s no queue! I was worried we’d have to wait _ages_.”  
“You always did hate queues,” Val laughs giving Carol a conciliatory pat.  
“Well who doesn’t,” retorts Carol, marching up to the counter. “Can we order now?”  
“Sure, what are we all getting?”  
“Chocolate!” Yells Carol  
“Danvers, you are such a child,” admonishes Natasha, rolling her eyes.  
“What can I say, I’m passionate about chocolate.”  
“That’ll look great on your college application, I’m sure,” Nat jokes.

“Well,” Val begins sadly, “there doesn’t seem to be anything Vodka flavoured so… I guess cookies and cream’ll do.”  
“Why would there be vodka flavoured ice cream?” Carol asks, wrinkling her nose.  
“Probably in Russia there is,” supplies Natasha.  
“I have to go there one day,” Val says dreamily, and Wanda giggles, ordering raspberry, while Natasha gets mint choc chip.  
Ice creams in hand, the four of them make their way over to one of the plush-looking red leather lined booths.

  
“This chocolate is _amazing_ ,” Carol declares, a look of utter bliss coming over her face. “How’s yours?” she asks Wanda, mouth full so it comes out muffled.  
Wanda wonders how on earth it is she doesn’t get a brain freeze.  
“It’s good,” smiles Wanda, and then emboldened: “raspberry is so underrated. People always go on about strawberry but raspberry is _way_ better.”  
“Well if you put it that way, I just might have to try some,” says Natasha.  
“Go ahead,” Wanda tells her as Natasha uses her scoop to take some from Wanda’s cup.  
“S’good,” Natasha approves, “but have you ever tried mint?”  
“No,” admits Wanda with a shake of her head.  
“Well you’re missing out.”  
And before Wanda can quite register what’s happening, Natasha is scooping up a mouthful and feeds it to her. Luckily, she’s functioning just enough to remember how to swallow.  
“It’s good, right?”  
Wanda nods, though she thinks if someone else had given it to her, it probably wouldn’t have tasted as good.  
“Have I converted you?” Natasha asks, an eyebrow raised.  
“Perhaps.” Yes, she _definitely_ has. To more things than just liking mint choc chip ice cream.

Sitting in a booth with September sun still streaming in, Wanda can’t quite believe she’s doing this, that she’s surrounded by three other girls she could call friends. It’s a new feeling, this happiness, but one she didn’t want to forget.  
Slowly, the chatter turns to school and homework, Val complaining about the _mountains_ of chemistry homework she’d been set, Carol still trying to convince Natasha to join the netball team.

  
“How are you enjoying it here, Wanda,” Natasha asks, changing the subject when Carol starts trying to bribe her.  
“It’s growing on me,” admits Wanda, and yes, that’s true. “People seem much nicer than back in New York.”  
“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says with a grin, taking another spoonful of the cool raspberry dessert in front of her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda’s not having a good day. It’s Natasha to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter seven!!

Wednesday is a grey day. And Wanda doesn’t mean the weather. In fact it’s as though the cloudless blue sky is mocking her, trying to diminish her feelings, convince her she shouldn’t feel this way. It’s not like she wants to, though.  
Her alarm goes off and instantly she knows something is wrong. Her head feels heavy, everything feels wrong. Like a weight forcing her down. She knows this sinking feeling all too well; draws the covers up over her head, cocooning herself away from the world, trying to drown out the every-day sounds of the rest of the house waking up.  
“Wanda!” She hears her brother call out. “You’re going to be late for school, come on!”  
She doesn’t even have the energy to answer.  
“Wanda!”  
Pietro comes into the room to find her still buried under the covers, facing away from him. She hasn’t moved. It takes too much energy.  
“Bad day, huh?”  
He takes the slight shift in the covers to be a yes.  
“You sure you don’t want to try and get ready, maybe see how you feel after?”  
No answer.  
“Okay then,” he says with a sigh. I’ll be home late, I’ve got track. Dad won’t be home till tomorrow.”  
Pietro pats the misshapen lump in the bed and places a cereal bar on her nightstand.  
“I’ll let dad know so he doesn’t freak out if the school calls him.”  
“Thank you,” she manages finally, hating the way her voice sounds.  
“Feel better soon,” her brother says softly, closing the door.  
She stays that way for some time, hears the front door bang shut and the key turn in the lock. Natasha’s probably on her way to school too, but Wanda can’t bring herself to get up and look out of the window.  
She reaches for the cereal bar Pietro left her, only managing two bites. Her teeth are tired and it feels dry and gluey in her mouth.

Eventually, she’s not sure at what time, she gathers up energy to rinse out her mouth and clean her teeth before trudging back to bed  
She thinks about Natasha, how she’s at school with the others, and waits for sleep to claim her again.

When she wakes everything feels strange. Hazy. That warped reality that comes from sleeping during the day. Her phone tells her it’s past one in the afternoon. And, surprisingly, she has messages on her phone that are not just from her dad and Pietro. There’s a missed call from her dad so she checks his message first. She’s not sure she’s up to calling him back yet though.

_P told me you’re staying home. Sorry I’m not there. Feel better soon, I’ll try and call later. Love you_

There’s also a message from Clint.

_You’re sooo lucky you’re missing English, Miss Johnson’s just going on and on about pathetic fallacy. It’s PATHETIC, get it!_

It’s the final message that makes her stop in her tracks. From Natasha.

_hey_  
_Everything okay? X_  
_Noticed you weren’t in school_

It’s the ‘X’ that has her heart racing. The more rational part of her brain tries to tell her it’s just something normal girls do when they text, nothing to get overly excited about, nothing to read into. Of course she does anyway though as she fires off a reply.

_Not feeling so good today so I’m resting at home._

She waits for a reply. It’s almost instantaneous, as though Natasha has been waiting for _her_ response.  
  
_Hope you feel better soon <3_

Wanda almost falls out of bed at that point.

—

She tries to read awhile, does some journaling, but mainly just lies, staring into space, her thoughts consuming her. She wills this away, wishes things could just be as they were. As they used to be.

There’s a tapping against her window that she dismisses as being birds. There sure are a lot more here than in New York. But it becomes more insistent, finally drawing her attention and she’s shocked to find _Natasha’s_ face staring in at her. How she had managed to get up there, Wanda doesn’t know. It takes all her strength to remove the piled-up cushions from the sill and open the window to let her in.

“You couldn’t have used the front door?”  
“This was more fun,” grins Natasha, clambering in and surveying the room, her eyes coming to rest level on Wanda.  
She notices how unkempt she looks hair messy and unbrushed, still in her pyjamas, sleep in her eyes (Wanda can feel it).  
“You look—" Natasha changes tact. “Are you alright?”  
Wanda is about to say yes, then shrugs. _Is she alright?_  
Nat sits her down (which isn’t that hard, Wanda can feel the energy draining out of her) and it’s at that particular moment Wanda’s stomach decides to growl.  
“You eaten anything?” The redhead asks gently.  
“A cereal bar,” confesses Wanda, eying the half-eaten bar on her bedside table.  
Natasha follows her gaze and makes a quick decision.  
“Okay, I’m going to go get you some food.”  
“No, no you don’t have to,” Wanda protests. She doesn’t want Natasha to go to all that effort and she certainly doesn’t want her pity.  
“I _want_ to,” Natasha tells her firmly, in a tone that doesn’t really leave room for discussion.  
It seems there is no arguing with Natasha. She puts an arm around Wanda, who wonders how it is that Natasha is not repulsed by the girl in front of her.  
“Why don’t you try and change while you wait?” suggests Nat, heading downstairs, leaving Wanda to stare after her, eyes wide with amazement. That is, until she remembers her appearance and wants to throw something across the room. Any minuscule chance she’d ever had with Natasha had evaporated.

It’s quite an ordeal, but by the time Wanda is dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, breath minty fresh, face washed, Natasha has returned with a tray bearing a grilled cheese sandwich and apple slices.  
With pain, Wanda remembers that was how her mother used to slice apple for her and Pietro as an after-school snack.  
“I make the best grilled cheese, you know,” claims Natasha with a smile, setting the tray down beside Wanda on the bed.  
“I guess I’ll have to try it then,” says Wanda, shifting to make room for Natasha.  
She doesn’t realise how hungry she actually is until that first bite.  
“‘S good,” she says, mouth full, before belatedly realising how gross she probably looks.  
“I told you,” Natasha smirks. “Now let’s see about your hair,”  
“My— what do you mean?” She knows it must look terrible, but really, to the point Natasha thinks it’s something she has to _fix_?  
And then she feels her hands carding through it, gentle as she works out all the knots and tangles, no easy feat when she remembers Natasha’s not using a hairbrush. She could get used to this.  
Wanda eats, Natasha works  
“So, you wanna talk about it?”  
Wanda knows what she means.  
“Not particularly, if that’s ok.”  
“Of course that’s ok,” says Natasha, continuing her work. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”  
“I miss my mum,” Wanda finds herself saying, though she’s not sure why. She’s under no obligation to. Natasha had made that clear. “Sometimes I just have really shitty days. I guess this is one of them.” Wanda pauses, before taking a deep breath. “She died last year. That’s why we moved.”  
“That’s rough. I’m so sorry.”  
Wanda sighs. Rough doesn’t even _begin_ to describe it.  
“You speaking to anyone about it?”  
“What? Like therapy? I was for a bit, back in New York. But I’m bad at talking.”  
“You should give it a go. The school counsellor’s pretty nice. Honest review,” Natasha smiles.  
“Maybe.”

“There. All done,” Natasha announces, tying off the braid and letting Wanda see it.  
“I wish I could braid hair. Mum was great at it. Me, not so much. Didn’t really learn and then she got sick.”  
“I can teach you.”  
“Really?” Wanda asks, twisting round to face Natasha.  
“Yeah.”  
“But maybe another time? I’m kinda still tired.”  
“Sure, whenever you’re ready.”  
Wanda smiles, it’s a little painful, but she manages it.  
“What do you wanna do now?”  
Wanda shrugs. She’s still not so good at the whole ‘hanging out with friends’ thing.  
“We could watch a movie?”  
“Okay,” agrees Wanda.  
“You go ahead and pick something.”  
“You sure?”  
Natasha nods and Wanda gets out her laptop, tapping away for a few moments, before settling back into the bed and moving over to make space for Natasha  
“This was one of my favourite films when I was a kid. Kinda still is. The Parent Trap. Me and Pietro used to try out the pranks and stuff, mostly on our dad.”  
Natasha laughs. “I think I’ve seen it once, maybe,” she reveals.  
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Wanda says, hitting play.

About halfway through, Wanda finds herself nestled against Natasha. She’s not sure how it happened, but Natasha can’t object if she hasn’t complained, right?

By the time the credits are rolling, Wanda’s feeling a whole lot better. She doesn’t even notice Pietro come into the room.  
“Hey Wanda, how’re you—” he stops short, seeing Natasha beside Wanda, the two of them curled up together.  
“Oh, hey Nat.”  
“Hi,” Nat says, extricating herself from the bed and standing up. “Just stopped by to check on Wanda.”  
Wanda looks up, not quite meeting Pietro’s eyes, a faint blush spreading its way across her cheeks.  
“Hopefully see you tomorrow, Wanda?” She asks, hugging her tightly, and Wanda’s brain promptly implodes.  
Surprisingly, she manages to not look like a fool, and delivers a competent response.  
“Yeah, hopefully,” she says to Natasha’s retreating figure, wishing Pietro hadn’t come home quite so early.  
Pietro (thankfully) waits until he hears the front door closing.  
“You have a cruuush,” he chants in a singsong voice, teasing his sister.  
“I do not!” Wanda returns, indignant.  
“Please don’t do this. I’ve known you since I was born. Of _course_ I know.”  
Wanda rolls her eyes.  
“Not now Piet.”  
“Ah so you admit it.”  
Wanda sighs. Sometimes, Pietro could be downright infuriating. This was one of those times.  
“How do you feel about pizza for dinner.”  
“Sounds good,” says Wanda, feeling surprisingly hungry.  
“What did you eat today?”  
“Natasha made me grilled cheese,” Wanda confesses.  
“Ahh so she cooks for you too, huh?”  
Wanda lobs a cushion at his head and misses spectacularly.  
(In her defence she’s not having the best day)  
“Fine, fine I’m going,” Pietro declares as Wanda’s phone rings.

Eagerly, she digs it out of its place beneath the blankets, hoping it’s Natasha.  
It’s her dad.  
She tries not to sound too disappointed as she picks up.  
“Hey dad.”  
“How are you? I’m so sorry I’m not there.”  
“I’m okay. Well, better than before. Natasha came over,” she tells him.  
“That was nice of her.”  
“Yeah.” After a beat, Wanda decides to tell him. “I told her about mum.”  
“Oh?” _She hasn’t told anyone about that yet_ , her dad thinks.  
“Well I thought she should know, since she came round to help me. You don’t mind, do you?”  
“Of course not. I’m glad you’re making friends and opening up. That’s good, sweetheart. I’m happy for you.”  
“Daaad you sound like a therapist,” jokes Wanda.  
“That’s a good thing, right?”  
Wanda smiles to herself.  
“What are you and Pietro having for dinner?”  
“Pizza.”  
“Figures.”  
(It’s usually what happens when their dad’s away).  
“So listen, I’ll be home tomorrow,” her dad tells her. “Be safe, okay.”  
“Okay, dad. Love you.”  
“Love you too, Wanda.”  
—

“Where’ve you been?” Melina calls from her desk as Natasha tosses her school bag to the ground.  
“Wanda’s.”  
“Ah, the neighbours. You’ve made a friend then?”  
“Guess so,” Natasha says simply, shrugging. “She’s kinda been having a hard time. I went over to help her out.”  
“Good of you,” her mother smiles fondly. “You should invite her round for dinner you know. It would do you good to be around someone who’s not one of those ruffians you hang out with.”  
Natasha bites back protestations. Her friends aren’t _that_ bad.  
“I’ll think about it,” she says, but yes, she likes that idea.  
“How about Friday?”  
“I’ll ask her,” promises Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Online uni is not fun :((


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’ve been so busy lately with uni (eek) so sorry for not updating, but I hope you like this chapter :)

“Wanda! Hey Wanda!”  
The redhead finally catches up with Wanda, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.  
“Didn’t you hear me calling?”  
“Wha- oh, sorry,” Wanda mumbles, taking her earphones out, mentally scolding herself. She hoped Natasha didn’t think she was ignoring her.  
“What’cha listening to?” Natasha asks, waving away the other girl’s apology.  
“Oh, um, girl in red.”  
“Huh. Haven’t heard of her. She good?”  
“Yeah,” Wanda gives her a smile, cheeks heating up in spite of herself. She hopes it’s not visible.  
“Well anyways, I wanted to ask, would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow? Only if you’re up to it though. I understand if you’re not, but...” Natasha trails off.  
 _God damnit when was the last time she’d rambled?_  
“I’d love to come,” beams Wanda. Clearly yesterday hadn’t deterred Natasha from wanting to be her friend.  
“Cool, 6 o’clock tomorrow then?”  
“Sounds good,” says Wanda, shouldering her backpack as the two head towards class— Wanda to history and Natasha to Spanish.

—

“Clint,” whispers Natasha, poking the boy beside her in the ribs.  
“Oi! Jeez Nat, you coulda just tapped my shoulder like a normal person,” he hisses.  
“Yeah but that wouldn’t be fun,” counters Natasha.  
“What do you want?”  
“Someone’s grumpy.”  
“You would be too if someone used their murder fingers to stab you in the ribs.”  
“So dramatic,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Have you ever heard of ‘girl in red’?”  
“Uh, yeah. Woulda thought you had. Why?”  
“No reason.”  
“Nat. Spill.” He has an inkling about where this conversation is heading.  
“Wanda listens to her.”  
“Huh. Interesting.”  
“Why’s that interesting?”  
“Just is,” he says mysteriously, turning his attention back to verb conjugations, refusing to say any more.

—

“How come Wanda gets invited to dinner?” Pietro whines from the hallway.  
“Maybe because she’s the more civilised one out of the two of you,” their dad jokes, clapping Pietro on the shoulder.  
“Or maybe someone has a cruuuuush,” Pietro hisses in his sister’s ear, causing her to flush deeply. _How could Natasha anyway? And in any case, this was what friends did, wasn’t it?_  
  
Deciding to take no further heed of her brother, Wanda grabs the bunch of flowers on the hall table and calls out a goodbye before taking a deep breath and heading out the door before she can change her mind.  
This is all still new to her. She doesn’t remember the last time she was invited to a friend’s house and it would be lying to say she wasn’t feeling nervous.  
Somehow, her feet find their way to Natasha’s doorstep and she rings the doorbell, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation, clasping the flowers she’d agonised over that afternoon: a bouquet of tulips from the florist in town.  
She looks down at her outfit: a floral print dress, tights, and a dark green cardigan. She’d eventually settled on the outfit because it warranted making an effort without it being over the top. Hopefully, it was enough. She wasn’t really well-practised in being invited to dinner.

“Hey,” says Natasha, opening the door, and then stopping when her eyes come to rest on Wanda. “You look amazing.”  
 _Did she?_  
“Thank you. I wasn’t really sure what to wear, I don’t usually wear dresses,” Wanda replies a little awkwardly, fiddling with the bouquet in her hands. Couldn’t she just say thank you and move on like a normal person?  
“You dressed up for little old me?” Natasha asks, amused.  
Wanda blushes, glad for the gathering darkness.  
“Nat, bring her inside, you can’t expect her to eat out on the doorstep!” Calls what sounds to Wanda like Melina.  
“Oops, sorry!”  
Wanda laughs as Natasha leads her inside.

“Ah flowers,” smiles Melina kindly, accepting the bouquet from Wanda. “Beautiful. And they match your dress.”  
“Thank you for inviting me, Ms Vostokoff.”  
“Melina. I already said, remember?”  
“Oh, right.”  
“Hang on, what do you mean ‘ _already_ ’?”  
“We met at the bookstore, a couple of weeks back,” Melina says simply to her daughter.  
“And you didn’t think to tell me,” says Natasha, a little betrayed as she looks between the two.  
“Oh do stop being so dramatic,” scolds Melina. “Why don’t you take Wanda up to your room, I’ll get Yelena to come and help with dinner. Yelena!” She calls. “Come down and help.”  
“Good luck with that,” Natasha mutters darkly when there is no response.  
“Yelena get down now!” Melina shakes her head as Natasha leads Wanda up the stairs, where Wanda nearly crashes into said Yelena.  
“Hi,” she manages, more than a little startled.  
“Heeey Wanda,” Yelena says in a pointed, singsong voice, pinching Natasha, who aims a kick at her. Yelena swears.  
“Yelena Belova, I will not have that kind of language in my house!”  
“Now you’ve done it,” hisses Natasha as Wanda stifles a laugh.  
Really, it was just like her and Pietro.

“Well, here we are,” Natasha says, gesturing theatrically around her room.  
It’s tidy but has the air of a room that’s recently been tidied and isn’t quite used to it. It is, as Wanda pictured it: the layout remarkably similar to her own room, and yet, so very different.  
Natasha has band posters and photographs adorning her walls, there’s a CD player and an ample rack of CDs, all old bands; Wanda only recognises a few. She has a bookshelf in one corner, haphazardly stacked with books and a few awards and trophies dotted between them that Wanda suspects are from ballet and martial arts.

In one corner, on a stand, is a guitar that draws Wanda’s attention. There is, it seems, no end to Natasha’s talent.  
“You play guitar?”  
“Yeah. Actually, there’s something I learnt for you.”  
“For me?”  
Natasha nods, grabbing her guitar and throwing herself into the very comfy and rather over-stuffed looking beanbag, gesturing Wanda to sit on the bed. “I only learnt it yesterday so…” she lets that sentence dangle there, beginning to play the first few chords, which sound oh-so-familiar to Wanda. And then, to her amazement, Natasha starts to sing. It’s soft, but very beautiful, like everything about this girl with the red hair.

_“Smoking cigarettes on the roof_   
_You look so pretty and I love this view”_

By this point, Wanda starts to hum along, though she doesn’t dare sing. She just wants to focus on Natasha.

_“We fell in love in October_   
_That’s why I love fall_   
_Looking at the stars_   
_Admiring from afar”_

When it comes to the chorus, Wanda’s not sure whether it’s a coincidence or not, but Natasha makes direct eye contact with her as her fingers strum along to the words:

_“My girl my girl my girl_   
_You will be my girl_   
_My girl my girl my girl”_

A dis-chord sounds and Natasha winces, putting the guitar down beside her.  
“Haven’t really perfected it all yet,” she shrugs, fidgeting in the beanbag.  
“Are you kidding? That was _amazing_! I’m kinda surprised you listened to girl in red. I, uh, I didn’t really think it would be your thing,” Wanda finishes, making her point by nodding at the posters Natasha has on her wall.  
“Well, she’s pretty good actually,” reveals Natasha, “for new music. You have a favourite song?”  
“I think I have a new favourite,” laughs Wanda, emboldened.  
Natasha, it seems, is about to say something when Melina calls up to them.

“Girls, dinner’s ready!”  
“Okay, coming,” returns Natasha, leading Wanda down the stairs, the moment gone, leaving whatever she was about to say to Wanda behind.

—

“Is this paprikash?” Wanda asks, taking a seat beside Natasha as Melina serves her from the steaming dish in the centre of the table.  
“Natasha mentioned it was one of your favourites.”  
 _So Natasha talked about her?_  
“Yeah. My mum’s was amazing, but dad’s _awful_ at making it,” grimaces Wanda, in memory of his last attempt.  
Melina laughs. “Well it seems you’ve come to the right place then.”  
After the first mouthful, Wanda couldn’t agree more. It may not be her mother’s but Melina is a very, _very_ good cook.

The dinner passes with chatter about how Wanda is finding school, about her brother too, and Wanda, surprised at herself, finds she’s more than happy to talk. They manage to avoid talking about her mother, and Wanda suspects Natasha might have something to do with that, though she’s not complaining.

By the time she returns home, she’s tired, but filled with a happiness she hasn’t felt for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts! X


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9!

“Wanda, will you go and return this dish next door?” Her dad asks. “I have to get these emails out.”  
Wanda sighs. She may have had a couple of conversations with Melina, and she guesses she could call Natasha her friend now, but that didn’t make it any easier.  
“Okay, I’ll go in a bit,” promises Wanda, heading into the kitchen and tying back her hair.

An hour and a half later, she’s standing on the neighbour’s doorstep, dish in hand, though this time it’s filled with chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven.  
This time, it is Melina who answers the door.  
“Oh, hello Wanda. Natasha’s out I’m afraid— I’m guessing it is her you’re here for?”  
“Actually, um, I’m here to return your dish. My dad and brother really enjoyed the paprikash… I did too.”  
“I’m glad,” Melina smiles warmly as Wanda holds out the dish.  
“My mum always said to never return a dish empty, so I baked some chocolate chip cookies.”  
“Your mum sounds like a very smart and thoughtful woman.”  
“She was,” says Wanda, trying not to get caught up in the past.  
“Well, thank you Wanda, these look amazing. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in? Natasha should be back soon.”  
“No, it’s okay, thank you. I’ve got homework to do.”  
“Ah, yes, the plight of high schoolers.”  
Wanda smiles. She quite likes Natasha’s mother.  
“Well I’ll let Natasha know you stopped by,” promises Melina as Wanda says her goodbyes.

That wasn’t _so_ bad. Maybe she _could_ get better at this whole interacting thing.

–

It’s a slow afternoon, her homework’s complete and Wanda is once more curled up in the window seat, reading. This time, it’s one of her all-time favourites, _Little Women_. She loved getting lost in the familiarity of it, the comfort it brought. She always thought of old books as good friends. You could know them so well and yet, each time you reread them, there was always some new detail to find, something new to revel in.

Her phone rings, and Wanda scrambles for it, wondering who it could be, surprised. It wasn’t like anyone really called her back in New York, so it’s a change.

 _It’s Natasha_.

“Hey Nat.” Wanda tries to sound casual, like her heart’s not hammering in her chest.

(It most definitely is)

“I just tried the cookies and God, they’re so good. I had no idea you were such a good cook.”  
“I’m ok, I guess,” mumbles Wanda humbly.  
“I’d say more than ‘ok’,” returns Natasha, and Wanda can hear the smile in her voice.  
“Thanks.” Wanda hopes Natasha can hear _her_ smile.  
“Wow the rain’s really coming down out there,” observes Natasha after a beat.  
“Yeah, it is. Oh God wait it’s raining! I completely forgot—the clothes! Sorry, Nat, I have to go.”

She puts the phone down, barely hearing Natasha’s “I’ll come help,” cursing her forgetfulness as she tears down the stairs. She should have bought them in earlier. Now they’d have to be rewashed. She had one job.  
Grabbing the laundry basket and stamping her feet into the first pair of shoes she finds (her dad’s flip flops) she dashes out to the back yard.  
 _Yep those clothes are already soaked_.  
Wanda frantically starts dragging them off the clothesline, dumping them into the basket clothes pegs and all when she hears a familiar voice:  
“Need a hand?”  
 _“Natasha!”_ Wanda lets out a rather undignified yelp. “What’re you doing here?”  
“Helping you, of course. I wasn’t going to stand by and let you get all soaked by yourself. It’ll be faster this way, anyway.”  
“Thanks,” Wanda huffs out, water dribbling down her face, her hair curling with damp, watching as Natasha pulls down a sheet and tosses it into the basket.  
Even like this, half drenched with her t-shirt clinging to her skin, Natasha still looks like a work of art, while Wanda is sure she resembles something close to a drowned rat.  
Realising she’s staring, Wanda quickly scoops off an assortment of clothing, piling it up, not really minding the rain now she’s with Natasha.

They’re soon done, and Natasha helps Wanda lift the basket inside, definitely heavier now its contents is waterlogged.  
“Thanks,” Wanda smiles, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, in effort to make herself a little more presentable.  
“Any time,” Natasha winks, heading out the back door and back into the rain, leaving as suddenly as she’d arrived.

A while later, the clothes rewashed and hanging _indoors_ , Wanda is considerably drier, her hands warming on a mug of green tea. Digging out her phone (somehow it always managed to go missing), she fires off a text to Natasha, not hesitating in the least:

_Sorry I got you wet_

The three ellipses appear to show Natasha is typing, and Wanda waits, eagerly.

 _No worries_  
I’d do it for you again  
Hope you’re a lot drier now though ;)

 _Yeah, I am_ , Wanda returns with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading X


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just Natasha having a gay panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this chapter x

“Ugh, why does Biology have to have so many words,” groans Clint, slamming his locker door shut, thinking maybe he should slam his _head_ against it too.  
“I could help, if you like,” offers Wanda. She knows what it means to struggle, doesn’t know quite where she’d be if Natasha hadn’t offered to help her with calculus.  
“You’d do that?” Clint asks, eyes widening, for all his worth looking like a puppy being told he’s going on a walk.  
“Yeah.”  
“Mind if I tag along?” Carol asks, coming up behind them. “Couldn’t help overhearing, and we’ve got the biology test coming up and I’m _awful_.”  
“Sure. Although I don’t know how _much_ of a help I’ll be,” admits Wanda.  
“Ohh you’re the best,” Carol says, putting an arm around the brunette and giving her a winning smile.  
“I’m not sure about that,” laughs Wanda.  
“So modest,” Carol teases, “and _God_ you smell great! Like—wait, don’t tell me…” Carol pauses, sniffing the air close to Wanda. “Lavender,” she sighs eventually while Wanda looks on, bemused.  
“Uh, thanks. Hey Nat, would you like to come?” Asks Wanda, turning to the redhead, who’s been awfully quiet in all this.  
“Me? Oh, I, uh, have martial arts this evening. You guys go ahead,” Natasha finishes, forcing a smile.  
“Oh, okay.” Wanda lets it pass, secretly a little disappointed.  
Clint looks at her with narrowed eyes but doesn’t say anything.  
“So where do you want to study?”  
“Can we go to the park? _Pleaseeee_?” Asks Clint, practically begging her.  
The park? To study? That’s a new one, but she agrees all the same.  
“Sounds good.”  
“Cool, we’ll meet here at the end of the day then,” Carol decides, heading off with Wanda to their period one art lesson, leaving Clint and Natasha alone.  
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Clint rounds on Natasha.  
“What was that about? You don’t have martial arts tonight. We both know that.”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Natasha says, finally, slamming her locker door shut. Nevertheless, Clint persists.  
“Are you trying to avoid Wanda?”  
“No, it’s just—” Natasha groans. “I like her Clint.”  
“Well me too,” he shrugs. “ _I’m_ not avoiding her.”  
“No I— don’t make me say this Clint. You know what I _mean_.”  
“So then why are you avoiding her?”  
“Because everyone knows Carol’s a lesbian and what if she makes a move first.”  
“Well, firstly then, you’ve gotta _be_ there and not avoid Wanda and secondly everyone knows Carol has a thing for Val so stop wondering.”  
“Yeah but what if _Wanda_ likes _her_ and not _me_.”  
“Hah, yeah right,” scoffs Clint. “Have you _seen_ Wanda? Are we even talking about the same person? I caught her doodling your name in her English book yesterday.”  
“You did?!” Natasha almost splutters.  
“Yeah. And also, she listens to girl in red. _You_ told me that, remember. So it’s gotta count for something.”  
Natasha groans.  
“But that doesn’t mean she likes _girls_ , Clint.”  
It’s Clint’s turn to groan with exasperation.  
“Nat, seriously. You’re supposed to be good at reading people. What do you want? A colourful sign? A loudspeaker announcement?”  
Deep down, Natasha knows that Clint is maybe, possibly right.  
“What am I gonna do now?”  
“You could talk to her,” Clint suggests with a shrug.  
“I can’t do that,” Natasha says, astounded, as though Clint had suggested something completely preposterous and impossible, like flying to Jupiter that afternoon.  
“Well then she’s never gonna know and the two of you are just gonna be pining after each other forever. No offence, but now I see where they get the term ‘useless lesbians’ from. So get your shit together and go ask her out, okay?”  
“Jesus, Clint, great pep talk.” Natasha says sarcastically, then sighs. “I just don’t want her to think I’m pushing too hard, y’know. She’s been through a lot.”  
“Well I think she trusts you. You’ll be fine. More than fine. In fact, I predict you two’ll be together pr-etty soon,” he grins.  
Natasha shrugs. It’s not like her not to be in control of things. “I hope you’re right,” she says lowly before trudging off to history, mulling Clint’s words over in her mind.

  
—

Fourth period finds Natasha in physics, desperately trying to pay attention to Mr Stark’s lesson on magnetic fields, but all she can think about is _Wanda_.  
As if Carol can hear her thoughts beside her, (which is absurd because no one can do that, _right?_ ) the blonde asks:  
“So when are you gonna ask Wanda out?”  
Startled, Natasha can only splutter a rather undignified “ _What_?” Drawing the attention of the pupils around her.  
“It’s _really_ obvious,” Carol continues. “You’ve got a bad case of it.”  
“Ok Dr Danvers.” Then, wondering how many other people had figured it out: “am I really _that_ obvious?”  
“One lesbian to another: _yes_. Clint also _may_ have said something to me. But for the record I guessed way before. I think even Steve’s noticed something’s up. You’re not so subtle as you thought you were, huh, Agent Romanoff.”  
“Ok but this is just the pot calling the kettle black.”  
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”  
“You’re a hypocrite, Danvers. When are you going to ask Val out? The cat’s been out of the bag a long time on that one.”  
“You and your stupid idioms. Fine. Hey Val!” She hisses across the classroom to where Val and Thor are silently arm wrestling. “Do you wanna go out with me?”  
Val’s face splits into a huge grin that touches her eyes. “Sure,” she smiles, before turning back to beat Thor.  
“Great!” Carol rounds on Natasha. “ _See?_ That wasn’t so hard.”  
Natasha groans.  
Meanwhile, somewhere across the school, Clint pulls out his phone:

Clint created the group ‘GET NATASHA AND WANDA TOGETHER’  
Clint added _Pietro_ , _Carol_ , and _Steve_

Clint: we need to get these two together  
Carol: yup  
Steve: agreed  
Pietro: on it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay safe everyone <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter this time, hope you enjoy x

“Hey,” says Wanda, finding Natasha before school.  
“Oh, hey. How was your study session yesterday?”  
“Not very productive, actually,” laughs Wanda. “Clint kept complaining about the pigeons, trying to convince me they’re spies. He says the only valid bird is a hawk.”  
“That sounds like Clint,” sighs Natasha, shaking her head. “Just don’t let Sam hear that or there’ll be a fight. _Again_.”  
“Really? Why?” Wanda asks, genuinely confused.  
“Sam has a thing for falcons,” Natasha shrugs, shutting her locker.  
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”  
“Yeah.”  
“I like your shirt.”  
Natasha looks down.  
She’s got on a Star Wars t shirt, complete with the logo and a scene from _A New Hope_ printed on the front. If she’s honest, she hadn’t really given much thought to her outfit; she’d overslept that morning.  
“Thanks. You like Star Wars?”  
Wanda nods. _Like_ is an understatement.  
“Did you see the recent one.”  
“No,” admits Wanda. “We were going to but then, well, mum got sick and then I didn’t really feel like it.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
Wanda fidgets with her sleeves. Despite the amount of people who had said ‘I’m sorry’ over the past year to her, she still wasn’t sure how to respond. Did one say ‘thank you’? Did you say ‘me too’? Wanda didn’t know. Conversation conventions were hard.  
“Hey,” Natasha says after a beat, “do you wanna come over to mine and watch it after school?”  
Wanda’s face breaks into a huge smile. “I’d love to”  
“Okay, great. I’ve got ballet till 7 so come over around 8, I guess. That okay?”  
“Sure!”  
“Okay, then, it’s a date.”  
The words are scarcely out of Natasha’s mouth before she realises what she’s said.  
No take backs now. That would just be awkward.  
_Well this was what you wanted_ , Romanoff, she tells herself.  
“See you later,” Wanda smiles, and Natasha watches her retreating figure, waiting for her to be out of sight before entering full on panic mode.

_Oh god I just asked Wanda on a date…_

Meanwhile, Wanda is having an internal crisis of her own.  
Did Natasha just ask her on a date?  
Did she mean a date as in a romantic thing?  
Or did she just mean it was a date as in an appointment or a deal or something?  
Conversations _were_ hard.  
She almost doesn’t register where she is when she enters her first period history class.

“Wanda, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Steve tells her as she takes her seat next to him.  
Steve’s her friend, right? She can tell him, can’t she? It’s too much to keep to herself anyway so she blurts it out.  
“I think Nat just asked me on a date.” The words sound strange coming from her mouth, something she’d never imagined herself saying. _Especially_ not about Natasha.  
“About damn time,” is Steve’s response, much to Wanda’s surprise.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Oh, nothing. You looking forward to it?”  
“I mean, yeah, I guess. I’ve never really been on a date or anything, so…” she trails off, the realisation sinking in.  
Steve, it seems, senses her worry.  
“Relax, it’ll be fine,” Steve promises.

Wanda sorely hopes he’s right.

—

Geography finds Natasha and Clint sitting beside each other, listening to their teacher talk about lake formation or something or other, Natasha’s not really paying attention.  
“Nat!” Clint hisses.  
No response.  
“Earth to Nat.” He waves his hand in front of her face.  
Caught off guard, Natasha grabs his arm, gripping it in a vice-like grip.  
“Oww, Nat, let go.”  
“Oh, right, sorry. Reflexes.”  
“What’s with you today? You always take notes and today I have to because you’re _distracted_ ,” bemoans Clint, like it’s a heinous crime.  
“I may have just asked Wanda out on a date.”  
“Okay and the problem is?”  
“She said yes!”  
“Still not seeing what the problem is.”  
“What am I supposed to _do_?”  
Clint sighs. It’s usually him with the problems and Natasha trying to solve them. Oh how the tables had turned!  
“Well how’d it happen?”  
“We started talking about Star Wars and then Wanda said how she hadn’t seen the newest one, so I invited her over and told her it was a date,” Natasha huffs out, not making eye contact.  
“Well that’s simple then. Just make hot chocolate and fill your room with fairy lights and tons of blankets and pillows. She’ll love that. All girls love that. Even I’d love that,” says Clint matter-of-factly.  
“Hmm, maybe… yeah,” muses Natasha.  
“Bake something as well if you want,” offers Clint. “And maybe tidy your room.”  
“Thanks,” is Natasha’s response, punching him playfully on the arm. And she means it. Because really, what _would_ she do without Clint?

—

“You’re going to make a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Pietro tells her unhelpfully, leaning against the door frame.  
Wanda doesn’t respond.  
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”  
Wanda sighs. There’s no getting passed her brother. He’ll just wear her down anyways.  
“I’m supposed to go to Nat’s this evening. We’re watching Star Wars.”  
“Is it a daaate?” asks Pietro gleefully.  
“Would appear that way,” Wanda says quietly.  
Pietro tries to keep the surprise from his face.  
“So why are you so… sad? I thought you _liked_ Natasha.”  
“Yeah but—”  
“No buts. You’re going. Otherwise all you’re gonna do is mope around and be sad and wish you had gone.”  
Wanda manages a weak smile. He’s right about that. He knows her too well.

—

GET NATASHA AND WANDA TOGETHER  
Clint: its hapeningggg  
Pietro: i have an idea, birdboy  
Clint: HEY  
i prefer hawkboy actually  
Pietro: oh well  
Clint: so what’s your plan????

—

So Wanda goes, dressed in jeans and her favourite t-shirt, embroidered with flowers, finding herself out in the cool night air, once more at Natasha’s doorstep.  
“Hey,” Wanda says awkwardly when she sees Natasha standing before her.  
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” quips Natasha, flashing her a grin.  
“I, ah, got held up,” Wanda says lamely, hoping Natasha won’t enquire further, that Wanda won’t have to reveal that in fact, she _was_ very close to not coming.  
“No worries.”  
“So how was ballet?” Wanda asks as Natasha leads her into the kitchen.  
“Alright, I guess. We’ve got a recital in a couple weeks so there’s extra rehearsal sessions.”  
“I bet you’ll be amazing,” Wanda tells her sincerely.  
The redhead smiles. “I hope so.”  
Wanda watches as Natasha moves around the kitchen, gathering various miscellaneous items, all with a practiced grace and rhythm that no doubt came from all the ballet lessons.  
“Is there anything I can help with?” Wanda asks, fiddling with her hands and feeling more than a little out of place.  
“Huh? Oh no, you sit, I’ve got this,” Natasha assures her. “I’m making hot chocolate.”  
Wanda’s eyes go round. “Ohh Clint mentioned you make the _best_ hot chocolate,” she says, looking so adorable Natasha thinks she might combust.  
“Did he now?” Natasha challenges, quirking an eyebrow in a way that never fails to faze Wanda. _How did people do that?_  
The meddling fool. Natasha might just have to thank him later. For now though, she sets about making popcorn and reveals a muffin tray from a place on the counter.  
“I can’t promise these are as good as the cookies you sent over, but I thought I’d try something out.”  
“They look delicious,” Wanda declares and Natasha internally breathes a sigh of relief.

“Well I think we’re all set,” Natasha nods, precariously balancing an overladen tray in her arms.  
“Let me take something,” insists Wanda, hopping off her chair to grab the overflowing popcorn bowl.  
“Thanks.”  
“Also, I think you made enough popcorn for an entire army,” Wanda teases.  
“What can I say, I’m hungry. Ballet will do that to you.”

—

“I hope this is ok,” Natasha gestures to her room. “Mum asked if we wanted to set up in the living room, but I thought…” Natasha trails off. There she was again, rambling and not finishing her sentences. This was bad. Carol, she recalls, was _probably_ (definitely) right.  
“No, this is great!” Wanda tells her, looking at the room transformed, fairy lights strung up, bathing it in a warm, rosy glow. Cushions and blankets are strewn across Natasha’s bed: it looks even comfier than Wanda’s own window seat.  
She’s got this warm feeling inside, touched that Natasha went to all this effort for her.

Natasha grins widely and gestures to the bed, telling Wanda to make herself comfortable amongst the blankets.  
She’s hesitant at first, but it doesn’t take much more encouragement after Natasha herself sits, contorting herself into a position that has Wanda wondering how on _earth_ that could be at all comfortable.  
The two seated, Natasha hits play, settling back into the cushions as the familiar theme tune fills the room.

It’s late and Wanda finds herself falling asleep, no doubt due to the warmth and comfort that is Natasha, as the end credits play. Nevertheless, she pushes herself up into a more dignified seating position, desperately trying to wake her left leg that has chosen _now_ to fall asleep, and turns to face the girl beside her.  
“I really enjoyed this.”  
“The movie?” Natasha questions, an eyebrow raised.  
“No-o, well yes the movie, but I mean all of it. You. Being here _with_ you. It was nice.”  
“We should do this again sometimes then,” Natasha says with a wink.  
_Did she just—_  
Nope. No no no. Wanda is not going to entertain _that_ particular idea.  
“I’ll walk you home,” Natasha offers.  
“What? Oh no, you don’t have to,” Wanda says (though she’d like it).  
“I want to, ok.”  
Wanda doesn’t even try to protest further, taking the proffered hand to help her up.

They cross over to the Maximoff’s drive and Wanda fumbles around in her pockets for the keys, first the jeans and then her jacket, checking them once, twice, and then again.  
Natasha notices the agitation on Wanda’s face.  
“Is something wrong?”  
Wanda groans. “I can’t find my keys. I thought I had them, but…”  
“Did you check your back pocket?”  
“Yep. Twice,” she says, annoyed at herself. She was _sure_ she’d put them in her jacket before she left.  
It’s late and she doesn’t want to wake her dad, knowing he’s probably had a long day. Defeated, Wanda sits on the door step, not knowing what to do.  
Natasha eyes her for a beat before coming to sit beside her.  
“Well you can’t stay here,” she says softly. “Come on.”  
“Where are we going?”  
“Back to mine.”  
“Oh, no I couldn’t possibly—”  
“Of course you could.”  
“Are you sure your mum would be ok with it?”  
“Yeah, why wouldn’t she?”  
Wanda opens her mouth to answer, before realising it’s a rhetorical question.  
“Ok,” she says, allowing herself to be led back to Natasha’s.

The house is quiet and Wanda stifles a yawn.  
“Here,” Natasha says, tossing Wanda some pyjamas from her closet and pointing in the direction of the bathroom.  
“Thanks.”  
“I’ll be back up soon just gotta take this stuff down. Mum hates it if I leave food in my room overnight.”  
Wanda nods a reply and heads into the bathroom, examining herself in the mirror she knows Natasha looks into probably every morning. Is it creepy to think of things that way? Probably, but she does it anyway.

She’s tired, but happy.

She puts on the borrowed clothes, noting the scent of jasmine and linen and something that is most definitely Natasha, feeling the weight and texture of them against her skin.

By the time she returns to the room, Natasha herself has changed into sleep shorts and a t shirt that swamps her slight frame, making her look so much younger and softer than Wanda has seen her before. She thinks she likes this side of Natasha, the side that the rest of the world doesn’t see.  
“Huh.”  
“What?” asks Wanda, panicking. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she?  
“Nothing. Only that you look really good in my clothes”  
“Thanks,” Wanda blushes, not for the first time that evening, ducking her head.  
Natasha considers the girl before her for a moment longer, until the moment is interrupted as Wanda barely stifles a yawn.  
“Tired, huh?”  
Wanda only nods in response, settling down beside Natasha, feeling a little awkward in spite of everything.  
After a little shuffling around, Wanda declares herself cold.  
“Come here then,” offers Natasha, opening her arms.  
And Wanda obeys. How could she not?  
Natasha yelps in a very un-Natasha like way, startling Wanda.  
“You’re freezing!”  
“I did say I was cold,” Wanda says sheepishly.  
Natasha rolls her eyes, pulling the brunette closer, muttering something about blocks of ice.  
“Good night Wanda.”  
“Night Tasha,” Wanda mumbles barely registering the words.  
(For the record, Natasha likes the way her name sounds coming from Wanda’s mouth, the nickname no one but Clint so far has been allowed to use)  
Her last conscious thought is how _incredibly_ lucky she is for tonight: it’s a fortuitous mistake she _did_ misplace her keys.

Natasha wakes to the morning sunlight streaming in through the cracks in her curtains. The rays filter through the room, coming to rest on the pillow beside her where Wanda lies sleeping, her head resting against Natasha’s shoulder. How _peaceful_ she looks there, soft and heavy with sleep, her hair splayed out across the pillow.  
Carefully extricating herself from the blankets (they had become _impossibly_ tangled) she leaves Wanda sleeping, pulling clothes out of her closet and heading to get dressed.

“Morning mum,” Natasha calls out, pouring herself coffee from the cafetiere.  
“I see you had a visitor,” Melina smiles over a mixing bowl.  
“Yeah. Wanda got locked out last night so she stayed over. Wha’tcha making?”  
If Melina notices how her daughter changed the subject, she doesn’t comment.  
“Thought I’d make some chocolate chip pancakes,” her mum smiles, knowing how much Natasha likes them. “I bet Wanda will like them.”  
“Heyyyy Nat.”  
“Hi?” Natasha says warily, wondering what on _Earth_ had put her sister in a good mood this morning. Last time she’d checked, Yelena was not a morning person.  
“How’s your girlfriend?” She says in a singsong voice, snagging a handful of chocolate chunks from the bowl on the counter.  
There it is.  
Deciding against going to war that morning, Natasha chooses to take the high road (believe her, it’s not easy), lets out an audible sigh, and goes to find Wanda (her girlfriend?), leaving her mother to deal with Yelena.

“Wanda,” calls Natasha softly, smoothing the strands of her hair.  
There’s a voice and gentle hands shaking her awake.  
“M’awake,” Wanda mumbles, opening her eyes, a little disoriented at first. It looks like her room, but isn’t. Her eyes come to rest on _Natasha_ , or rather, the fuzzy outline identifiable by the shock of red.  
“Nat?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Hi.”  
“Hey,” Natasha says with a smile, marvelling at how adorable sleep-soft Wanda is. “Did you sleep well?”  
“Yeah,” she says, voice still heavy with sleep as she props herself up.  
“Good. Mum made chocolate chip pancakes downstairs and I left some clothes out for you. There’s a spare toothbrush and towels in the bathroom if you want as well.”  
“Thanks,” smiles Wanda, watching as Natasha leaves, hearing her footsteps descend the stairs before hauling herself out of bed.

She finds the sweater Natasha put out for her: dark green and soft, revelling in the way it too smells like Natasha as she pulls it over her head. Maybe it’s because she’s just woken up, but she’s having trouble getting her head around the fact that she was _here_ , that last night had _happened_. It’s surreal and terrifying and exciting all at the same time.

It’s a crisp autumn day and as Wanda falls into step beside Natasha, finding herself feeling a little more awkward, a little more shy, than usual.  
“You were pretty quiet at breakfast,” comments Natasha.  
“I was enjoying your mum’s pancakes.” It’s not a lie, she really did enjoy them. Melina’s cooking was sublime. She’s just not quite sure how to voice this feeling inside her.  
If Natasha suspects that Wanda is leaving something out, she doesn’t probe further, just allows the silence to wash over them, each occasionally stealing a glance at the other when the other wasn’t looking.  
It’s then though, with the school in sight, that Wanda becomes acutely aware she doesn’t have any of her books, or her backpack for that matter. Bemoaning her forgetfulness, the two round the corner to where Clint and Pietro are standing, her brother leaning against his locker.  
“Hey, you two,” they say pointedly and in unison, almost suspiciously like they’d planned it. Which, if Wanda knew her twin, was a _very_ distinct possibility. For another thing, it doesn’t escape her notice that Natasha narrows her eyes at Clint, who looks away.  
Something was _definitely_ up.  
“Oh, Wanda, here’s your bag. Figured you’d need that for today.”  
“Thanks,” Wanda says, accepting her bag from Pietro. “By the way, have you seen my keys? I couldn’t find them yesterday and…” she trails off.  
“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” her brother returns casually. A little _too_ casually for Wanda’s liking.  
“Hmm.”  
Pietro was, in all honesty, saved by the bell, allowing him to dart off to chemistry, and Wanda to Spanish, leaving Natasha and Clint behind.  
“Isn’t that your sweatshirt?” Clint asks Natasha, who glares at him in response.  
“Are you going to tell me what you two are up to?”  
“ _We_ are not up to anything,”  
“Is that so.”  
“You’re too paranoid, Tasha.”  
“Maybe so, but what I do know is Wanda definitely put her keys into her jacket yesterday.”

—

Free periods are a godsend. As it is, Wanda’s finding it hard to focus, thoughts constantly reverting back to yesterday, to Natasha. It’s reflected as she scribbles away in her journal:

_It still feels so surreal, that yesterday even happened at all. I keep expecting it to have been a dream. But it’s not. The proof is right here on me. I’m wearing Natasha’s sweater. I don’t really want to return it, but I expect I’ll have to sooner or later. I’d rather it be later._

  
_It was great though, yesterday. I’m glad I went in the end. I guess I owe that to Pietro, even if he is acting strange today. I just wish I had the courage to go and ask Natasha somewhere. Instead I’m just awkward and clam up._

“Hey.”  
Wanda startles, slamming the book shut in time for Steve to sit down beside her.  
“Hi.”  
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve laughs, pulling out his books.  
“It’s cool,” smiles Wanda, opening up her Spanish book. She might as well get started on the homework.  
Steve eyes Wanda carefully for a while.  
“Is that- is that Nat’s sweater?” He asks her finally, ninety-six percent sure he saw Natasha wearing the exact same one a week ago.  
Wanda flushes bright red. She honestly hadn’t expected anyone to notice. And least of all Steve. Perhaps she should give him more credit.  
“Um, yeah, it is,” she mumbles quietly, turning her attention to her work while Steve smiles to himself.  
_About damn time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, if someone gave me their sweatshirt I’d probably combust  
> anyways   
> thanks for reading <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda has a panic attack, Nat comes to the rescue and some things are revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It’s the first day of our second lockdown here in England. I hope you’re all doing okay.   
> Just a warning here that this chapter has mentions of cancer and deals with panic attacks. If you think this may affect you please look after yourself and don’t read.  
> x

The day starts out, unassuming. Just an ordinary Thursday, nothing remarkable about it. it’s about a week after the whole _lost key_ thing. Wanda wakes up, eats a bowlful of cereal, walks to school with Natasha. (it’s become a new thing). She goes to her lessons. Period 1 calculus awful, but normal.

And now, she sat in Biology. Dr Banner was discussing cell growth and division, which Wanda was carefully taking notes on. It was all quite interesting, really, Wanda thought. That was, until he moved on to abnormal cell division and the resulting development of tumours.

Wanda couldn’t follow any more. She was back in the past, over a year ago, when they’d heard the news. That there was no treatment, no cure. That it was too late. The ticking time bomb that had replaced her mother. The agonising months that followed, all coming to a head last June. All the result of the division of these tiny cells.

A picture flashes up on the projector screen. She hears distantly Dr Banner ask a question. The answer, she knows, whether she wants to hear it or not.

“Cancer,” someone says. She’s not sure who.

Her chest is just too tight. She can’t breathe. She tries to say something to Carol, who is sitting across from her, but her throat has closed up. All she knows is she needs to get out, get away.

Abruptly, she stands up, her chair scraping horribly against the floor but she barely registers its sound, nor the way her water bottle clatters to the ground, not even the eyes of the students on her as she makes her exit, nausea swirling in her stomach.

The halls are better. It’s quieter, less crowded, but still hard to breathe. Hard to see as well. The lights are just too bright, almost fluorescent; her head spinning as she’s flooded with thoughts, memories. She doesn’t want them. No amount of wishing will make them go away. Her lungs are burning, heart pounding fit to explode.

She’s passed a wall of lockers, and, later she’ll think how it was amazing she’d managed to walk that far, when she collides into something decidedly solid. It could be a wall, a locker, the drinking fountain, she can’t tell. Not until it speaks.

“Wanda?”  
The voice sounds so far off, so muffled, and yet, somehow, familiar—  
_Natasha_.  
Somehow, through everything, she’s able to recognise that.  
The energy is knocked out from under her, and Wanda sways before the girl in front of her, black spots dancing in her vision.

“Hey, are you okay?” Natasha asks, concerned, as she guides Wanda to sit, leaning against the lockers.

There’s silence save for the sound of her own erratic breathing.  
She’s trying to form the words, desperately. Trying to let Natasha know what was happening. But no sound would come out.  
Just her lungs screaming for air.  
_This is what drowning must feel like_ , a small part of her brain thinks.  
It’s like the rest of her is locked away, that there’s only this intense feeling of panic, this terror and she can’t function beyond it.  
“Hey, Wanda. It’s Natasha. We’re at school, I bumped into you on the way to get my history text book. I hope your head is okay, by the way,” Natasha rubs the spot on her forehead where she had collided with Wanda.  
Wanda knows what Natasha is trying to do; she wills it to work.  
And then the tears come, wracking her form as she chokes out for breath, chest heaving with effort.  
“Hey, hey,” Natasha says soothingly, heart breaking for the girl in front of her. She doesn’t know the reason for this outburst, but what she does know is she would do _anything_ for Wanda. “Is it ok if I hug you?”  
Wanda nods, grateful that Natasha had asked before touching her.  
Natasha holds her tight, brushing the hair from the brunette’s face and rubbing a hand against her back. “It’s ok, I’m here, I’ve got you,” Natasha repeats slowly. “We’re going to try and breathe, ok, you and me together.”  
Wanda nods her head, yes. It’s all she can really do for now, but it’s something.  
“Ok, ready?”  
Wanda copies. She’s still shaking beside Natasha, but slowly, slowly, she finds her breathing gradually slowing, returning to some form of normal. It’s not quite clear how much time has passed: it could be seconds, minutes, Wanda doesn’t know. Time and reality seem a little warped right now, but she’s glad Natasha is here beside her or she’s not sure what would have happened.  
“How’re you doing?” Natasha asks, noticing the improvement.  
Wanda shrugs.  
“A little better,” she rasps out, cringing at her own voice. “But tired.”  
“I’ll bet. Listen, can you sit here for a few moments—focus on the breathing, I’m going to get your things and some water and we can go sit outside, get some fresh air. And then maybe, when you’re feeling less tired, I’ll take you home.”  
“You don’t have to do that.”  
“But I want to,” Natasha says firmly, tucking a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear and standing up.  
Wanda watches her disappear down the corridor. It’s not until after she’s gone that she realises she never told Natasha what class she had.

Nonetheless, Natasha returns with both her bag, and Wanda’s.  
“Here,” she says, unscrewing the top of Wanda’s water bottle and handing it to her. “Come on.”  
“Won’t your teacher mind that you’re not returning to the lesson.”  
Natasha shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”  
Wanda allows herself to be led outside, to the bench she remembers she spoke to Natasha at all those weeks ago. It seems like an age ago.  
“Thank you for this,” she manages, taking another sip of her water. “For helping me.”  
Wanda’s eyes become watery again, threatening to overspill, thinking back to what started it all.  
“Hey, it’s ok. I’m right here if you want to talk,” Natasha says, moving closer to wrap her arms around the brunette who in this instance just seems so small and fragile. “And it’s also completely okay if you don’t want to,” she adds, giving Wanda’s hand a gentle squeeze.  
For a while, silence passes between them, and then Wanda speaks.  
“I was in biology and Dr banner he-he started talking about, about tumours and I just—"  
Wanda stops, not being able to go on any longer, the tears starting up again.  
Natasha, knowing now where this is going, puts her arms around her once more.  
“Hey I’m sorry. It must have been hard to hear all that,” Natasha tells her rubbing soothing circles on her back.  
“Its just, there was no warning and I miss mum and I wasn’t expecting it”  
“I know, I know,” Natasha says gently. “That wasn’t very good of Dr Banner, huh now.”  
“No,” agrees Wanda with a shake of her head.  
Natasha holds her a while longer.  
“I’m sorry,” she says hoarsely.  
“No! For what?”  
“For involving you in this and making you miss class and having a panic attack and being weird and _everything_ ,” Wanda blurts out.  
“Don’t apologise for anything. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to stay here with you and make sure you’re ok. I _want_ to be here.”  
Natasha defaults to playing with Wanda’s hair, which seems to sooth her.  
“Y’know I have panic attacks sometimes still.”  
“Really?” Wanda asks, surprised at this revelation.  
“Yeah. I was adopted you know. And before mum came along, I was in this orphanage. In Russia. They used to handcuff us to the beds at night. I still wake from nightmares, still have flashbacks where I think I’m there, where I can feel the metal against my hands. It’s horrible,” Natasha shakes her head.  
“I didn’t know,” Wanda says, frowning, at a loss for how all this time, she hadn’t known Natasha was suffering.  
“Yeah. So see? It’s not weird. We’ve all got stuff we have to deal with.”  
“Did it- did it get better?”  
“After a long while, yes. It still happens, occasionally. In time it gets better. You get better at knowing when one might come on. Well, time and therapy I guess,” smiles Natasha.  
Wanda sighs, she’s heard that a lot. Coming from Natasha though, it sounds different, achievable. Like somewhere, further in her future, perhaps she _could_ be okay again. But right now it feels as though someone has pulled the plug. All the energy has drained out of her.  
“M’tired,” she tells Natasha, figuring she’ll know what to do.  
“Let’s get you home then,” Natasha says, gathering Wanda’s things together. “It’s lucky I have the car today, huh.”  
Wanda nods, her mouth is too tired to reply. She definitely doesn’t think she could have walked home.  
The drive there is quiet, Wanda leaning her head against the window, Natasha good enough not to try and make Wanda talk. _How did she get so lucky?_  
“Hey, we’re here,” Natasha says softly, helping her out of the car. “Would you like me to come inside?”  
“No, its okay. You’ve done enough for me. I’m probably just going to try and sleep anyways. Thanks, though.”  
“Any time” Natasha says, saluting her.  
“But…” Wanda trails off. “Please don’t tell Pietro. If he asks, just say I had a stomach ache or something.”  
“Got it,” smiles Natasha, finger gunning.  
“Thank you Natasha, really.”  
“Ah don’t mention it,” says the redhead, hugging her tightly once more.

Shutting the door, the tiredness is overwhelming, sitting deep in her bones. Somehow, Wanda manages to haul herself up the stairs, changing into more comfortable clothes (incidentally, it’s Natasha’s sweater. She’d been meaning to return it but hadn’t got round to it yet) and gets under the bedcovers.  
Before she lets sleep claim her though, she fires off a message to Natasha:

W: _Thanks for looking after me. Think I’ll stay home tomorrow though. Tell dad I have a stomach ache or something._  
She doesn’t expect a response so soon—it’s almost instantaneous.  
N: _I hope you have a peaceful day tomorrow <3_  
That heart _again_.  
W: _Thank you_ , she sends back before she lets sleep take her.

—

“Waaanda you have a letter,” Pietro trills up the stairs.  
It’s Friday after school and luckily she managed to get her dad to let her stay home, without ever telling him why.  
She’s been taking it easy. Not doing too much. A little reading, a history assignment. She doesn’t talk about _it_ with Pietro. It’s not fair after all. It’s still raw for both of them.

“Alright I’m coming,” Wanda tells him, extricating herself from the comfort of her room.  
Pietro dangles the letter in front of her.  
“Is it from your _girlfriend_? Are you two officially dating now?” He questions, infuriatingly. “Look, there are hearts on the envelope!”  
“Give it here!” Wanda snatches the envelope from him, ignoring his other questions.  
She recognises Natasha’s handwriting _immediately_.  
“It’s from Natasha,” she tells him, without quite meaning to.  
“Hah, so it _is_ from your girlfriend!” Pietro shouts, triumphantly.  
“She’s _not_ my girlfriend,” Wanda protests, however much it hurts her. Yes, maybe they’d had one date, but after yesterday… Wanda wasn’t sure Natasha would still want to waste time on someone like her, despite what she might say. In any case, one date didn’t mean she could call Natasha her _girlfriend_.  
“If you say so.”  
Wanda disappears up the stairs, tearing the envelope open as she goes.

 _Wanda,_  
_I hope you’re doing better today. I tried calling but I’m guessing you just wanted to lay low today. That’s completely fine. Just know that I’m here, whenever you need me. And even if you don’t. I’m practically right next door!_  
_If you want to leave a reply, just put it in the mailbox, I’ll get it._  
So Natasha had tried to contact her? Feeling bad, Wanda digs out her phone. The battery had died, probably some point during the night. Reaching over, she puts it on the charger and continues to read.  
_You didn’t miss much at school today. Just the usual. Clint and the others hope you’re feeling better soon (don’t worry I didn’t tell them the real reason). I’ve collected your work for you- we can go through it whenever you’re feeling up to it. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall behind._  
_Hoping to see you again on Monday._  
_Love,_  
_Nat x_  
By the time she’s finished reading, her phone has charged up enough to send her a message and begins typing out a message and then deletes it, instead fishing out a pen and piece of paper to compose a response, pausing every so often, tapping her cheek with the pen as she figures out the right words.

“Where are you going?” Pietro asks her, looking at Wanda suspiciously as she slips her feet into her Vans.  
“Mail box,” Wanda replies simply, deciding Pietro does _not_ , in actual fact, need to know.  
“Are you replying to your _love_ letter?” He teases.  
Wanda flips him off, leaving. He could be completely insufferable at times.

The letter carefully placed in next door’s mailbox, Wanda hurries back to the house, and the wait begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this chapter and I’d love to hear your thoughts :) Hoping to have the next one up soon but I’ve got exams coming up so we’ll have to see. Stay safe everyone X


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone’s weekend is going okay x

Saturday passes mostly in silence. Wanda sits out on the bench on the porch, sketching. It’s another thing she hasn’t done for a while, but she’s making time for it now. Feet cross-legged, she rests the book in her lap, looking out over the street.  
Carefully, she begins shading an outline of the big old cherry tree on the green in front of the house, occasionally sipping on the lemonade beside her.  
By all accounts, it’s peaceful. Almost as though the last couple of days didn’t happen. _Almost_.

A door slams, startling Wanda and a few birds. Looking up to find the source of disturbance, she spies Natasha, dressed in a t shirt and denim shorts (not that she was _looking_ ), making her way across to the cherry tree. It seems, today, the tree is quite popular, but Wanda is surprised when she sees Natasha kick off her shoes, look up, as though analysing, and begin to climb.  
She doesn’t mean to stare (okay, maybe she does) but she ends up watching Natasha climbing the whole way up, coming to sit on one of the thicker branches, looking out over the street, triumphant as she leans her back against the trunk, seemingly content with just sitting there, surveying the street.  
Letting out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, Wanda turns back to her sketch book, deciding that perhaps she’ll sketch Natasha into the drawing.  
She’s looking up, trying to see just how the branches are angled, where exactly the light passes through, when she catches Natasha waving to her. Wanda looks around, thinking maybe it’s to someone else, maybe she’s mistaken, but the street is deserted. And then she beckons. She is unmistakably waving her over.  
There’s no way Wanda can pretend otherwise.  
Making a decision and placing her sketchbook down on the seat beside her, Wanda traipses the short distance over to Natasha, shielding her eyes from the low autumn sun as she looks up.  
“Wanna come up?” Natasha asks her lazily, looking down at her from her spot up high.  
“Sure,” Wanda grins. This is something she _can_ do, reminds her of how her and Pietro would climb trees like this when they were younger. It was actually her mother who had taught them how, Wanda reminisces. She doesn’t allow herself to think too deeply about that though, not wanting to spoil the moment, and gets climbing.

“I see you have many hidden talents,” Natasha informs her as she shifts over, making room for Wanda to sit beside her.  
“You could say that,” shrugs Wanda.  
“I will,” returns Natasha, defiantly, grinning.  
“I got your letter,” Wanda tells her, fidgeting to get comfortable. It’s been a while since she’d sat up in a tree.  
“And I got yours. I’m glad you’re doing better,” Natasha says, sincerely.  
“Me too.” And she is. Two days ago, she wouldn’t even have contemplated climbing this tree. It’s amazing what time can do.

Wanda swings her legs, letting them dangle towards the ground below, watching as the wind ripples through the grass. There’s something that’s been weighing on her and she needs to get it off her mind.  
“Can I ask you a question?”  
“You already did, but sure,” laughs Natasha.  
“Why do you like me?”  
Whatever Natasha had been expecting, it wasn’t this, but Wanda continues.  
“There are so many other girls out there better than me. Better looking, who aren’t gonna just break down, or have panic attacks or bail on you. Why me?”  
Natasha frowns, before saying lowly and simply: “I wish you could just see yourself the way I see you.”  
“How’s that?” Wanda asks after a beat, genuinely curious as she awaits Natasha’s answer.

In response, Natasha leans forward, closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against Wanda’s, who gives a startled squeak, but reciprocates.

When they finally break apart, there’s a smile etched into Wanda’s face and reflected on Natasha’s.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” Natasha admits to Wanda, who thinks it is indeed a wonder she hasn’t fallen out of this tree as she Looks shyly across at Natasha, getting lost in the deep green of her eyes.  
“So have I,” confesses Wanda finally, much to her own surprise, both at the revelation and the forwardness to which she gave it.  
“But we can’t _ever_ tell Clint we kissed in a tree,” the redhead jokes.  
“Or Pietro,” laughs Wanda, her breathing easier now.  
“Or Yelena for that matter.”  
“Definitely,” agrees Wanda, watching as Natasha fixes her with a conspiratorial grin.

“So now I guess I need to take you on a real date, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Ps the next chapter is the penultimate one


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope your week has started off well. My exams are over so here’s your update!! Hope you enjoy x

The following Friday afternoon, Wanda should be doing her homework. There was a chemistry test on Monday and she was _awful_. Instead, she’s at her desk, her notes and books laid out in front of her, staring at her phone; looking over the text from Natasha for the _hundredth_ time.

_I’ll pick you up at 7. Be ready xx_

She has _plans_ on a _Friday evening_ , which is highly unusual for her. But even more so is the fact that she’s going on a _date_. Her date with _Natasha_. The whole concept is almost too preposterous to be true. But it is.  
If a year ago—no, even two months ago—you had told Wanda that today, this evening in October, she would be preparing for a _date_ , with Natasha freaking Romanoff no less, she would have laughed at the absurdity, thought it was some kind of trick being played on her, because how could such a thing ever happen to _her_?

And yet, here she was, staring at the contents of her closet; after much deliberation, settling on a floaty white peasant top with lacy embroidery that she hadn’t worn in a long while. Today felt like the right occasion, though. She completes the outfit with a pair of blue jeans and her favourite sneakers.  
She hopes it’s enough.  
But then, if she’s got this far with Natasha, it has to be, _right_?

Rummaging around in her jewellery box, she finds herself torn between a gold multi-stranded necklace, and her dragonfly pendant when her brother comes in.  
“Hey baby sis,” he drawls, throwing himself unceremoniously onto her bed.  
“Twelve minutes. You are _twelve_ minutes older than me,” she reminds him.  
He shakes his head. “Still a baby. You getting ready for your daaate?”  
“Who told you that? Dad?” Wanda asks suspiciously.  
“Nope. I have my own sources. Though I am hurt you didn’t tell me,” he says, clasping his heart theatrically, exaggerating offence. Infuriating as ever.  
Wanda suspects his “sources” may include none other than Clint Barton.  
“You should try out for the school play,” Wanda tells him with a smile, teasing. “And since you’re here, you can help. Which one do you think I should wear?” She holds up both necklaces for Pietro to see.  
“You’re asking _me_ for fashion advice?” Her brother asks amused.  
Wanda shoots him a withering look.  
“Ok, ok. The dragonfly one, definitely. It’s the one mum got you for your sixteenth, right?”  
Wanda nods. They both know it’s true.

“She’d be so happy for you, Wan,” he tells her softly, kissing the top of his sister’s head and helping her with the clasp.  
Wanda smiles at that. She wished her mother could have met Natasha. She would have liked her, Wanda thinks.  
“Thanks Piet.”  
“Anytime,” her brother grins as he leaves, thanking the universe for Natasha.

Never really one to bother with makeup, this evening she spends time applying and reapplying, finally settling on a little mascara and some eyeliner. It’s simple, but she likes the way the eyeliner looks against the blue-grey of her eyes. Her mother’s eyes.

The clock is ticking ever closer to seven and Wanda is scraping her hair back into a loose French braid, the way Natasha had taught her to, hands shaking all the while.  
_Get it together, Wanda_ , she scolds herself, willing her nerves to cease.  
Technically it’s not their _first_ date, but _God_ she’s nervous all the same. She doesn’t want to mess this up, not for herself, and certainly not for Natasha.  
She’s just about tied off the end of her braid when the doorbell sounds, followed by a text from Natasha, letting her know she’s outside.  
“I’ll get it,” Wanda calls out, grabbing her phone and hurrying down the stairs to open the door. She _absolutely_ doesn’t want Pietro answering it, because who knows what he’ll say?

(nothing good, she’s sure)

“Hi,” Wanda says shyly to the girl standing on her doorstep.  
“You ready?”  
“Yeah,” replies Wanda, fiddling with her shirt sleeves. _Why? Why_ is this so awkward? She literally saw Natasha at school earlier that day.

“You look amazing, you know,” Natasha says, looking Wanda over, marvelling at the girl before her. That this is _her_ date.  
“Not as good as you,” Wanda returns, with a blush, getting into the passenger seat beside Natasha, who is dressed in a worn-looking soft red leather jacket, a pair of black ripped mom jeans that fit her _just so_ , and a t shirt. Simple, but _very_ effective.  
Natasha waves the compliment away, starting the engine.  
“So where’re we going?” Wanda asks, settling into the seat, realising Natasha hadn’t told her.  
“Only the place that does _the_ best waffles in town!”  
Wanda sighs longingly. “I haven’t had waffles in ages.”  
“Well then you’ve got to try these ones,” affirms Natasha, “it’s like, a religious experience.”  
Wanda grins, she likes Natasha’s way of speaking.  
“I see you’ve been practicing,” comments Natasha, tweaking Wanda’s braid.  
“Well I did have a pretty good teacher,” quips Wanda and Natasha laughs.  
To Wanda, it’s the best sound in the world

—

“Trust me, Marla’s is the best,” Natasha says, naming the diner as the two get out of the car.  
Honestly, Wanda thinks that _anywhere_ so long as it was with Natasha would be ‘the best.’ Although she doesn’t voice that particular opinion as she follows Natasha inside.  
The diner is much like any of the other diners littered across the city, with its neon signs and photographs lining the walls. It’s a little place, complete with booths with overstuffed soft leather-lined seats, a black and white tiled floor and retro looking décor, like something out of an old movie Wanda thinks.  
Natasha leads her over to a booth. They almost have the full pick; there’s only a couple of other tables occupied tonight.

“What’re you going for?” Natasha asks, passing Wanda a cardboard menu across the table from the napkin rack.  
“Hmm,” Wanda’s forehead crinkles as she scans the list of choices before her. There’s a multitude of options she hadn’t even considered to be waffle toppings. “The chocolate strawberry sounds good.”  
“I thought you’d like that one.”  
“How come?”  
Natasha just shrugs. “I never reveal my secrets.”  
Wanda shakes her head. Natasha could be infuriating sometimes. In the best way, though.  
“What are you getting?”  
“Nutella, of course. With vanilla ice cream,” Natasha says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What can I get you two girls?”  
“Hey Marla,” Natasha smiles, greeting the owner by name.  
It makes Wanda wonder how many times Natasha has come in here, makes her think about how many times she’ll come here with Natasha in the future.  
“I’ll have the usual Nutella waffle with vanilla ice cream and Wanda here is having the chocolate strawberry.”  
“Great. It’ll be about fifteen minutes. You girls enjoy your evening,” Marla smiles, giving Natasha a _very_ pointed wink that doesn’t go unnoticed by Wanda.  
“What was that about?”  
“Just Marla being Marla,” Natasha replies airily. “I guess she thinks we’re here on a date.”  
“Well she’s not wrong,” Wanda finds herself saying, surprising herself at how easily that declaration comes.  
“True,” laughs Natasha.

While they wait, the conversation turns to music, Natasha borrowing Wanda’s phone and making her a playlist of all the songs she “just _has_ to listen to.”  
“It’s only fair, anyway. You _did_ get me to listen to girl in red.”  
Wanda is not one to protest that, watching Natasha work intently, noting her expressions, the small smiles, the quirks of her eyebrows, the way her eyes travel across the screen. It’s a wonder, she thinks, that they got here.  
But they did, and she’s glad.  
“Here you go,” Natasha says seriously, handing Wanda her phone back. “It’s everything you need to hear.”  
Wanda looks forward to it. There’s something about music, the songs that people listen to, that reveal so much about them.

Natasha’s phone buzzes beside her, catching her attention.  
“So apparently, Clint still hasn’t learnt when to stop interfering.”  
She shows Wanda the message, who blushes.  
“Oh.”  
I love him and all, but he _needs_ to stop,” Natasha rolls her eyes, decidedly leaving her phone face down on the table.  
Wanda laughs in agreement; Pietro _definitely_ could tone it down.  
“I think Pietro and him think they’re helping.”  
“Helping?”  
“To, um, try and set us up,” Wanda says awkwardly, wishing now she hadn’t said anything.  
“Oh?”  
“Turns out, Pietro stole my keys that night,” she says quietly.  
“I thought so. Must remember to thank him one day,” Natasha declares simply as their waffles arrive, flashing Wanda a smile.

“Wow,” Wanda breathes, looking at the plate in front of her. She hadn’t expected it to be so… much.  
“So, what do you think?” Natasha asks, cutting up her waffle.  
“I think I’m very glad I was too nervous to eat dinner,” Wanda smiles, taking the first bite.  
“You were nervous?”  
“Well… yes,” admits Wanda through a mouthful of waffle. “For our date. I’ve not had much, well, any, experience, and I didn’t want to ruin it all before we’d properly started.”  
“Oh, Wanda, you could never,” Natasha says softly, in a way that makes Wanda blush ridiculously, so much so she’s sure her cheeks resemble the strawberries topping her waffle.

Slowly, the conversation becomes lighter, Natasha recounting the time Clint got stuck in the ceiling vents above the cafeteria, much to Wanda’s confusion and amusement.

Somehow afterwards, Natasha persuades Wanda to walk with her, aimlessly, around the block. The night air is cool against Wanda’s cheeks, a change from the warmth of the diner. It’s a full moon tonight, and Wanda’s hand finds Natasha’s, lacing their fingers together.

They talk about everything and nothing, the chatter washing over them, fully immersing Wanda. Later, Wanda will think about how she can’t quite recall that conversation, only how it made her feel: warm, and safe, and happy. And completely head over heels in love with this girl beside her.

Involuntarily, she shivers, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Nothing could, when Natasha was around. That was one of the many marvels of her. She had this ability to sense everything. Especially, it seemed, when it came to Wanda.  
“Hey, you’re cold,” she observes, concern crossing her face.  
“It’s alright” Wanda insists, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. Perhaps she should have bought a cardigan or something though. It _is_ October.  
“No, here,” Natasha insists, shrugging off her jacket.  
“I haven’t even returned your sweatshirt yet,” protests Wanda with a shake of her head, but she accepts the jacket gratefully as Natasha drapes it over her shoulders. The weight of it is comforting; it smells like Natasha. Of course she wasn’t going to refuse it.  
“Don’t worry about that,” Natasha tells her firmly, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. “Keep the sweatshirt. It suits you much better anyway.”  
Wanda flushes, secretly happy, and if Natasha notices, she doesn’t say.  
“Shall we get you home?”  
Wanda nods with a yawn, the length of the day finally settling in. As much as she’s enjoyed tonight, it’s getting late, and she doesn’t want to give her dad cause to worry. She already did that enough.

“C’mon.”

They take the walk back to the car, streetlights illuminating their path, Natasha’s arm around Wanda, who is considerably warmer wrapped in Natasha’s jacket. A comfortable silence passes between them on the short ride home, each still basking in the memory of the evening, neither quite wanting it to end.

As usual, Natasha insists on walking Wanda to the door, and this time, Wanda can’t help but joke, maybe it’s because she’s tired, or maybe just because she’s so stricken with happiness: “and they say chivalry is dead.”  
“Well it’s never looked so good.”  
“That is true,” Wanda allows as they reach the door, because it is.

“Goodnight, Wanda,” says Natasha, leaning up to kiss her, right there on the doorstep. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she promises.  
Wanda smiles, reluctant to let go of Natasha. “I’d like that,” she says, watching as Natasha turns to go, before shutting the door behind her.

Inside and alone, a grin plastered to her face, Wanda does a little victory dance (glad Natasha can’t see her _now_ ), in celebration of the evening’s success.

She’s still smiling into the mirror as she brushes her teeth in her pyjamas, Pietro leaning against the door frame, not being able to get a _single_ word out of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this
> 
> (also next chapter is the final one!)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you’re all doing well x  
> It’s been a while (oops) but life’s been a bit crazy lately.  
> I hope you like this final update :)

The weather is considerably colder, it being November, as Wanda hatches her plan.  
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of bliss. The two had hung out at Wanda’s and even spent Halloween together, watching scary movies which may or may not have resulted in Wanda not being able to sleep for a week, much to Pietro’s annoyance. She’d gone with Natasha to Sam’s bowling party, and helped Natasha out minding the bookstore for her mum.  
So now, she figures, is as good a time as any to set her plan in motion.

Eventually, she manages to dig out the picnic hamper from the hall closet, which appears to just house a collection of things no one else could find a place for, hastily shoved in there when the Maximoffs had moved in. It’s a little dusty, but nothing that can’t be fixed.  
She’d already found the perfect location, scouted it out on google maps and everything, and it promised to look good, even this time of year.  
Tying up her hair, she begins her work in the kitchen, starting out with those chocolate chip cookies she knows Natasha likes, humming along to the playlist Natasha had made her.

The room is soon filled with the smell of baked goods, and Wanda sets about washing a punnet of strawberries she’d bought yesterday from the grocers, specifically for this occasion.

“Something smells good,” acknowledges Pietro, returning from his morning run, taking a seat at the counter and reaching out towards the plate of freshly baked cookies.

“They’re not for you!” Retorts Wanda swatting his hand away, but Pietro’s reflexes are too quick.  
He grabs one, stuffing it unceremoniously into his mouth.  
“They _are_ good,” he admits, mouth full, spewing crumbs everywhere, to Wanda’s utter disgust.

(though she’s secretly pleased Pietro thinks they taste _good_ )

“Who’re they for?”  
“None of your business,” she glares witheringly at him.  
“Ah so it’s _Natasha_ , then.”  
That does nothing to improve Wanda’s demeanour.  
“Can you just go and shower already, you’re making the kitchen smell.”  
“As you wish little sister,” says Pietro turning to leave, but not before snagging another of the cookies.  
Wanda sighs and continues her preparations, eyeing the kitchen clock. It’s just past ten in the morning, but Wanda has already been up for hours, trying to make everything _just so_. It has to be perfect.

Everything finally packed up, Wanda gets herself ready, changing into a cream coloured sweater and bundling herself up into her winter coat to ward off the cold. Placing the hamper into the car, she goes over to knock at Natasha’s door, heart hammering, though she’s not quite sure why.  
 _You’re already dating her_ Wanda scolds herself. _You’ve done the hardest part already!_  
She hopes Natasha is in. Otherwise, her efforts would have been for naught.  
She is, though, rewarded by Natasha answering the door, hair wet from the shower, but looking nothing less than incredible.  
“Oh hey,” Natasha smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  
“H-hi,” Wanda begins, taking a deep breath.  
 _Why did she have to be so nervous?_  
“You free?” It may not the most elegant way of putting it, but it _is_ direct.  
“Now?”  
Wanda nods, preparing to tell Natasha it’s okay if she’s not.  
“Sure, let me just go finish getting ready,” Natasha replies, much to Wanda’s relief. “You wanna come up and wait?”  
“Okay,” Wanda smiles, following Natasha up, celebrating internally.  
“So where’re we going?” Natasha asks, curiously looking over at Wanda as she sets about drying her hair. She doesn’t remember them making any plans for today.  
“You’ll see,” Wanda says mysteriously, grinning at her girlfriend of just over a month (that term is still so odd, even to think; the word weighs heavy in her mind). She’s earned this ability to be mysterious, she thinks, after all the effort she’d put in. Plus, it would be nice to surprise Natasha with something, for a change.  
“Ah I see, a surprise is it?”  
“Mhmm,” confirms Wanda. “But dress warm,” she advises. “I don’t think your mum would appreciate if I bought you back sick.”  
“So considerate,” quips Natasha, teasing, quirking an eyebrow.  
“Yeah well if you get sick, _I’ll_ get sick,” the brunette counters jokingly.  
“You can’t fool me, I know you care.”  
Wanda shrugs. She can’t fool Natasha, (she’s not even sure she’d _want_ to in this instance anyway) but she _can_ surprise her.

Fifteen minutes later and Natasha is seated beside Wanda in the passenger seat, a thick woollen scarf looped around her neck, making her look positively _adorable_ in Wanda’s opinion.  
“Still not going to tell me where we’re going?”  
“Nope.”  
“Okay,” hums Natasha, flicking the radio on and leaning back in her seat, letting the car fill with soft lyrics and the sound of a guitar:

_‘You fill my head with pieces_

_Of a song I can’t get out_

_Can I be close to you?’_

It’s amazing, Natasha thinks, the timing. The relevance of the song is almost laughable. How scarily accurate. Because Wanda means _so much_ to her. But even for her, who has always been so self-assured in her feelings, she couldn’t quite articulate just what being with Wanda meant. Maybe, that was because out of the two of them, Wanda was the writer, the one who saw the world through the eyes of a creator, who’s mind was filled with words and universes and undoubtably the one better placed for these things.

Still, she could try, though, right?

It was a little cliché, yes, but to her, Wanda _was_ everything. From the jokes she made, to the sound of her laugh, the way she’d twist the sleeves of her cardigans when she was thinking. How she hardly went anywhere without a notebook. And all Natasha wanted was to _be close_ to her as the song said. To stay with her, to keep her safe.

Shaking herself from her reverie, Natasha looks over at Wanda, who has her eyes trained on the road, a similar glazed look on her face, like the one that no doubt had just been plastered on Natasha’s moments ago. Perhaps Wanda too had been mulling those lyrics over in her mind. It seemed like the type of song she’d like. Dreamy. Just like her.

 _Jeez, Natasha, since when did you become such a sappy person?_  
(she’d make allowances though, she decides. For Wanda.)

Parking up, Wanda grabs the hamper from the trunk, motioning for Natasha to follow her.  
“Oh I see where this is going,” says Natasha, a huge smile on her face.  
“ _Stop_! You’ll spoil it!”  
“Okay, okay,” laughs Natasha, humouring Wanda. “I have absolutely _no_ idea where you are taking me or what we could _possibly_ be doing here. Should I close my eyes Miss Maximoff?”  
Wanda rolls _her_ eyes. “Come on,” she says, leading Natasha by the hand to a little clearing not far away.  
There are a few trees, just holding onto their leaves, winter sun casting shadows through their splayed branches. Wildflowers are still growing, dotted through the meadow, adding shocks of red and purple, despite the time of year.  
 _The place really does live up to the reviews_ , Wanda thinks, gladly.  
“Huh,” grins Natasha beside her.  
“What?”  
“I don’t think I’ve ever been here, is all. And I’ve lived here since I was _five_.”  
“Well I’m glad,” Wanda finds herself saying.  
“Why’s that?”  
“Well…” Wanda hadn’t quite expected Natasha to question her. “Because, well, if you come here again, you’ll think of today,” she says softly as she goes about unfolding the picnic blanket onto a patch of grass. It’s silly really, but she wants this to mean as much to Natasha as it does to her.

It does.

Unpacking the contents of the hamper, Natasha goes wide-eyed. She hadn’t quite been expecting _this_.  
“You did all this?” she asks incredulously.  
Wanda nods, a little shyly under Natasha’s gaze, who watches the brunette closely, enraptured.  
“You’re amazing.”  
“Don’t say that,” laughs Wanda, “you haven’t tried the food yet. It could be awful.” But she’s secretly pleased as she unpacks various containers and cutlery, settling down on the mat beside Natasha, who has toed her boots off to reveal a pair of fluffy socks that make her feet appear more like a pair of ferrets.  
It makes Wanda want to laugh outright, the sight. Because for all Natasha’s tough exterior, she was actually a _very_ soft person, even if she didn’t show it much. Wanda was glad she got to see this side of Natasha, the side no one else saw. The sleep heavy Natasha who kissed her good morning, the Natasha who made terrible puns, the girl who despite claiming to be a terrible artist would doodle flowers onto Wanda’s hand in maths class, and so, so much more.

“You know, you’re a pretty good cook,” Natasha informs Wanda, breaking into her thoughts. This pasta’s amazing, honestly.”  
“Thanks,” Wanda blushes as relief washes over her. “I thought something other than sandwiches would be good. They’re too overrated as picnic food.”  
Natasha laughs. She likes all these quirks Wanda has, her ways of thinking.  
“I couldn’t agree more.”  
“ _And_ , I baked the cookies you like,” she tells Natasha proudly.  
“Well then I’d say this _is_ the best surprise I’ve had.”  
Wanda shakes her head in disbelief, but a huge smile spreads across her face as she hands one over to Natasha.

The two, full with the plethora of picnic food Wanda had prepared, find themselves sprawled across the picnic blanket, lying shoulder to shoulder, gazing up at the sky, neither one minding the cold or the wind biting at their cheeks.

“I remember when we were younger and Pietro and I would try and find animals in the clouds,” Wanda says fondly at the memory, breaking the silence.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What can you see now?” Natasha asks, propping her head up on one elbow to look at Wanda better.  
Wanda wishes she’d bought her sketchbook to sketch Natasha like that. She’ll have to capture the image in her mind for later.  
“A chicken,” Wanda laughs after a beat.  
“Where?” Natasha asks, confused as she looks up, squinting at the clouds.  
Wanda points. “There.”  
“That is _not_ a chicken. It’s an octopus. See, look, it has eight tentacles,” Natasha tells her, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
Wanda rolls her eyes. It’s not, but whatever. She’ll let Natasha get away with that one.

“If you say so.”  
“I do say so,” smiles Natasha, her teeth chattering slightly in the cold, but neither wants to move.

They lie there beside each other, in the shadow of the tree under the split up sky, the branches splayed above them, clouds moving overhead. Time slips past, but Wanda doesn’t care. She just wants to stay there in that particular instance forever, with the rustle of the leaves and the smell of Natasha’s perfume, the sound of her breathing beside her, the weight of her leg pressed against Wanda’s side. Just them.

  
And Wanda thinks that yes, they are going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading and all your support throughout!! I really hope you’ve enjoyed this story  
> Stay safe x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts, and hopefully I’ll have the next chapter up soon 😊


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